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r^Yf-i  ■''^n' 


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'A 


imiiim 


L  1  E)  R.  A  R,  Y 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

or    ILLl  N015 

^^Z3 

0^6  i. 

V.  3 

GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


CHARLES  DICKENS. 


IN    THEEE   VOLUMES. 
VOL.  III. 


LONDON : 
CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  193,  PICCADILLY. 

MDCCCLXI. 

4 

[The  riijlit  of  trdiislalinii  i.<  reieived.] 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://www.archive.org/details/greatexpectation03dick 


V.3 


GREAT  EXPECTATION'S. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  had  to 
take  precautions  to  ensure  (so  far  as  I  could) 
the  safety  of  my  dreaded  visitor;  for,  this 
thought  pressing  on  me  Avhen  I  awoke,  held 
other  thoughts  in  a  confused  concourse  at  a 
distance. 

The  impossibility  of  keeping  him  con- 
cealed in  the  chambers  was  self-evident.  It 
could  not  be  done,  and  the  attempt  to  do  it 
would  inevitably  engender  suspicion.  True, 
I  had  no  Avenger  in  my  service  now,  but  I 
was  looked  after  by  an  inflammatory  old 
female,    assisted   by   an   animated   rag-bag 

VOL.  III.  B 


2  GREAT  EXrECTATlONS. 

whom  she  called  her  niece,  and  to  keep  a 
room  secret  from  them  would  be  to  invite 
curiosity  and  exaggeration.  They  both  had 
weak  eyes,  which  I  had  long  attributed  to 
their  chronically  looking  in  at  keyholes,  and 
they  were  always  at  hand  when  not  wanted ; 
indeed  that  was  their  only  reliable  quality 
besides  larceny.  Not  to  get  up  a  mystery 
with  these  people,  I  resolved  to  announce  in 
the  morning  that  my  uncle  had  unexpect- 
edly come  from  the  country. 

This  course  I  decided  on  while  I  was  yet 
groping  about  in  the  darkness  for  the  means 
of  o-ettinc:  a  lio;ht.  Not  stumblino;  on  the 
means  after  all,  I  was  fain  to  go  out  to  the 
adjacent  Lodge  and  get  the  watchman  there 
to  come  with  his  lantern.  Now,  in  groj)ing 
my  way  down  the  black  staircase  I  fell  over 
something,  and  that  something  was  a  man 
crouching  in  a  corner. 

As  the  man  made  no  answer  when  I  asked 
him  what  he  did  there,  but  eluded  my  touch 
in  silence,  I  ran  to  the  Lodge  and  urged 
the  watchman  to  come  quickly:  telling 
him  of  the  incident  on  the  way  back.  The 
-wdnd  being  as  fierce  as  ever,  we  did  not 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  3 

care  to  endanger  the  light  in  the  lantern  by 
rekindling  the  extinguished  lamps  on  the 
staircase,  but  ^ye  examined  the  staircase 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top  and  found  no 
one  there.  It  then  occurred  to  me  as  pos- 
sible that  the  man  might  have  slipped  into 
my  rooms;  so,  lighting  my  candle  at  the 
watchman's,  and  leavinj?  him  standino:  at 
the  door,  I  examined  them  carefully,  in- 
cluding the  room  in  which  m}'-  dreaded 
guest  lay  asleep.  All  was  quiet,  and  assur- 
edly no  other  man  was  in  those  chambers. 

It  troubled  me  that  there  should  have 
been  a  lurker  on  the  stairs,  on  that  night  of 
all  nights  in  the  year,  and  I  asked  the  watch- 
man, on  the  chance  of  eliciting  some  hope- 
ful explanation  as  I  handed  him  a  dram  at 
the  door,  whether  he  had  admitted  at  his 
gate  any  gentleman  who  had  perceptibly 
been  dining  out  ?  Yes,  he  said ;  at  different 
times  of  the  night,  three.  One  lived  in 
Fountain  Court,  and  the  other  two  lived  in 
the  Lane,  and  he  had  seen  them  all  go 
home.  Again,  the  only  other  man  who 
dwelt  in  the  house  of  which  my  chambers 
formed  a  part,  had  been  in  the  country  for 
B  2 


4  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

some  weeks ;  and  he  certainly  had  not  re- 
turned in  the  night,  because  we  had  seen 
his  door  with  his  seal  on  it  as  we  came  up- 
stairs. 

"  The  night  being  so  bad,  sir,"  said  the 
watchman,  as  he  gave  me  back  my  glass, 
"  uncommon  few  have  come  in  at  my  gate. 
Besides  them  three  gentlemen  that  I  have 
named,  I  don't  call  to  mind  another  since 
about  eleven  o'clock,  when  a  stranger  asked 
for  you." 

"  My  uncle,"  I  muttered.     "  Yes." 

"You  saw  him,  sir?" 

"Yes.     Oh  yes." 

"Likewise  the  person  with  him?" 

"  Person  with  him  !"  I  repeated. 

"I  judged  the  person  to  be  with  him," 
returned  the  watchman.  "  The  person 
stopped,  when  he  stopped  to  make  inquiry 
of  me,  and  the  person  took  this  way  when 
he  took  this  way." 

"  What  sort  of  person  ?" 

The  watchman  had  not  particularly  no- 
ticed ;  he  should  say  a  working  person ;  to 
the  best  of  his  belief,  he  had  a  dust-coloured 
kind  of  clothes  on,  under  a  dark  coat.    The 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  5 

watchman  made  more  light  of  the  matter 
than  I  did,  and  naturally  ;  not  ha-sdng  my 
reason  for  attaching  weight  to  it. 

When  I  had  got  rid  of  him,  which  I 
thought  it  well  to  do  without  prolonging 
explanations,  my  mind  was  much  troubled 
by  these  two  circumstances  taken  together. 
Whereas  they  were  easy  of  innocent  solution 
apart — as,  for  instance,  some  diner-out  or 
diner-at-home,  who  had  not  gone  near  this 
watchman's  gate,  might  have  strayed  to  my 
staircase  and  dropped  asleep  there — and  my 
nameless  visitor  might  have  brought  some 
one  with  him  to  show  him  the  way — still, 
joined,  they  had  an  ugly  look  to  one  as 
prone  to  distrust  and  fear  as  the  changes  of 
a  few  hours  had  made  me. 

I  lighted  my  hre,  which  burnt  with  a  raw 
pale  flare  at  that  time  of  the  morning,  and 
fell  into  a  doze  before  it.  I  seemed  to  have 
been  dozing  a  whole  night  when  the  clocks 
struck  six.  As  there  was  full  an  hour  and 
a  half  between  me  and  daylight,  I  dozed 
again ;  now,  waking  up  uneasily,  with  prolix 
conversations  about  nothing,  in  my  ears; 
now,  making  thunder  of  the  wind  in  the 


b  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

chimney ;  at  leng-th,  falling  off  into  a  pro- 
found sleep  from  Avhich  the  daylight  woke 
me  with  a  start. 

All  this  time  I  had  never  been  able  to 
consider  my  own  situation,  nor  could  I  do 
so  yet.  I  had  not  the  power  to  attend  to 
it.  I  was  greatly  dejected  and  distressed, 
but  in  an  incoherent  wholesale  sort  of  way. 
As  to  forming  any  plan  for  the  future,  I 
could  as  soon  have  formed  an  elephant. 
When  I  opened  the  shutters  and  looked  out 
at  the  wet  wild  morning,  all  of  a  leaden 
hue ;  when  I  walked  from  room  to  room ; 
when  I  sat  down  again  shivering,  before  the 
fire,  Avaiting  for  my  laundress  to  appear ;  I 
thought  how  miserable  I  was,  but  hardly 
knew  Avhy,  or  how  long  I  had  been  so,  or 
on  what  day  of  the  week  I  made  the  re- 
flection, or  even  who  I  was  that  made  it. 

At  last,  the  old  woman  and  the  niece 
came  in — the  latter  with  a  head  not  easily 
distinguishable  from  her  dusty  broom — and 
testified  surprise  at  sight  of  me  and  the  fire. 
To  whom  I  imparted  how  my  uncle  had 
come  in  the  night  and  was  then  asleep,  and 
how  the  breakfast  preparations  were  to  be 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  7 

modified  accordingly.  Then,  I  washed  and 
dressed  while  they  knocked  the  furniture 
about  and  made  a  dust ;  and  so,  in  a  sort  of 
dream  or  sleep-waking,  I  found  myself  sit- 
ting by  the  fire  again,  waiting  for — Him — 
to  come  to  breakfast. 

By-and-by,  his  door  opened  and  he  came 
out.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  bear  the 
sio-ht  of  him,  and  I  thouo;ht  he  had  a  worse 
look  by  daylight. 

"  I  do  not  even  know,"  said  I,  speaking- 
low  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table,  "by 
what  name  to  call  you.  I  have  given  out 
that  you  are  my  uncle." 

"  That's  it,  dear  boy !     Call  me  uncle." 

"You  assumed  some  name,  I  suppose,  on 
board  ship  ?" 

"Yes,  dear  boy.  I  took  the  name  of 
Pro  vis." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  keep  that  name  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  dear  boy,  it's  as  good  as 
another — unless  you'd  like  another." 

"What  is  your  real  name?"  I  asked  hmi 
in  a  whisper. 

"Magwitch,"  he  answered,  in  the  same 
tone  ;   "  chrisen'd  Abel." 


8  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  What  were  you  brought  up  to  he  ?" 

"A  waiTTimt,  dear  boy." 

He  answered  quite  seriously,  and  used  the 
word  as  if  it  denoted  some  profession. 

"  When  you  came  into  the  Temple  last 
night "  said  I,  pausing  to  wonder  whe- 
ther that  could  really  have  been  last  night, 
which  seemed  so  lono;  ao^o. 

"  Yes,  dear  boy?" 

"When  you  came  in  at  the  gate  and 
asked  the  watchman  the  way  here,  had  you 
any  one  with  you  ?" 

"  With  me?     No,  dear  boy." 

"But  there  was  some  one  there?" 

"  I  didn't  take  particular  notice,"  he  said, 
dubiously,  "  not  knowing  the  ways  of  the 
place.  But  I  think  there  ivas  a  person,  too, 
come  in  alonger  me." 

"Are  you  kno^ai  in  London  ?" 

"  I  hope  not ! "  said  he,  giving  his  neck  a 
jerk  with  his  forefinger  that  made  me  turn 
hot  and  sick. 

"Were  you  known  in  London,  once?" 

"  Not  over  and  above,  dear  boy.  I  was 
in  the  provinces  mostly." 

"Were  you — tried — in  London?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  9 

"Which  time?"  said  he,  with  a  sharp 
look. 

"The  last  time." 

He  nodded.  "  First  knowed  Mr.  Jaggers 
that  Avay.     Jaggers  was  for  me." 

It  Avas  on  my  lips  to  ask  him  Avhat  he 
was  fried  for,  but  he  took  up  a  knife,  gave 
it  a  flourish,  and  with  the  words,  "  And 
what  I  done  is  worked  out  and  paid  for ! " 
fell  to  at  his  breakfast. 

He  ate  in  a  ravenous  way  that  was  very 
disagreeable,  and  all  his  actions  were  un- 
couth, noisy,  and  greedy.  Some  of  his 
teeth  had  failed  him  since  I  saw  him  eat  on 
the  marshes,  and  as  he  turned  his  food  in 
his  mouth,  and  turned  his  head  sideways  to 
bring  his  strongest  fangs  to  bear  upon  it, 
he  looked  terribly  like  a  hungry  old  dog. 
If  I  had  begun  with  any  appetite,  he  would 
have  taken  it  away,  and  I  should  have  sat 
much  as  I  did — repelled  from  him  by  an 
insurmountable  aversion,  and  gloomily  look- 
ing at  the  cloth. 

"  I'm  a  heav}^  grubber,  dear  boy,"  he  said, 
as  a  polite  kind  of  apology  when  he  had 
made  an  end  of  his  meal,  "  but  I  always 


10  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

was.  If  it  had  been  in  my  constitution  to 
be  a  lighter  grubber,  I  might  ha'  got  into 
ligliter  trouble.  Similarly,  I  must  have  my 
smoke.  When  I  was  first  hired  out  as 
shepherd  t'other  side  the  world,  its  my 
belief  I  should  ha'  turned  into  a  mollon- 
colly-mad  sheep  myself,  if  I  hadn't  d  had 
my  smoke." 

As  he  said  so,  he  got  up  from  table,  and 
putting  his  hand  into  the  breast  of  the  pea- 
coat  he  wore,  brought  out  a  short  black 
pipe,  and  a  handful  of  loose  tobacco  of  the 
kind  that  is  called  Negro-head.  Having 
filled  his  pipe,  he  put  the  surplus  tobacco 
back  again,  as  if  his  pocket  were  a  drawer. 
Then,  he  took  a  live  coal  from  the  fire  with 
the  tongs,  and  hghted  his  pipe  at  it,  and 
then  turned  round  on  the  hearth-rug  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  and  went  through  his 
favourite  action  of  holding  out  both  his 
hands  for  mine. 

"And  this,"  said  he,  dandling  my  hands 
up  and  do"v\ai  in  his,  as  he  puiFed  at  his 
pipe ;  "  and  this  is  the  gentleman  what  I 
made !  The  real  genuine  One !  It  does 
me  good  fur  to  look  at  you,   Pip.     All  I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  1 1 

stip'late,  is,  to  stand  by  and  look  at  you, 
dear  boy ! " 

I  released  my  hands  as  soon  as  I  could, 
and  found  that  I  was  beginning  slowly  to 
settle  down  to  the  contemplation  of  my 
condition.  What  I  was  chained  to,  and 
how  heavily,  became  inteUigible  to  me,  as  I 
heard  his  hoarse  voice,  and  sat  looking  up 
at  his  furrowed  bald  head  with  its  iron 
grey  hair  at  the  sides. 

"  I  mustn't  see  my  gentleman  a  footing  it 
in  the  mire  of  the  streets  ;  there  mustnt  be 
no  mud  on  his  boots.  My  gentleman  must 
have  horses,  Pip !  Horses  to  ride,  and  horses 
to  drive,  and  horses  for  his  servant  to  ride 
and  drive  as  well.  Shall  colonists  have  their 
horses  (and  blood  'uns,  if  you  please,  good 
Lord!)  and  not  my  London  gentleman? 
No,  no.  AVe'll  show  'em  another  pair  of 
shoes  than  that,  Pip ;  won't  us?" 

He  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  great  thick 
pocket-book,  bursting  with  papers,  and 
tossed  it  on  the  table. 

"  There's  something  worth  spending  in 
that  there  book,  dear  boy.  It's  yourn.  All 
I've  got  ain't  mine ;  it's  yourn.     Don't  you 


12  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

be  afeerd  on  it.  There's  more  where  that 
come  from.  I've  come  to  the  old  country- 
fur  to  see  my  gentleman  spend  his  money 
like  a  gentleman.  That'll  be  my  pleasure. 
My  pleasure  'ull  be  fur  to  see  him  do  it. 
And  blast  you  all !"  he  wound  up,  looking 
round  the  room  and  snapping  his  fingers 
once  with  a  loud  snap,  "  blast  you  every 
one,  from  the  judge  in  his  wig,  to  the  co- 
lonist a  stirring  up  the  dust,  I'll  show  a 
better  gentleman  than  the  whole  kit  on  you 
put  together !" 

"  Stop  !"  said  I,  almost  in  a  frenzy  of  fear 
and  dislike,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  I 
want  to  know  what  is  to  be  done.  I  want 
to  know  how  you  are  to  be  kept  out  of 
danger,  how  long  you  are  going  to  stay, 
what  projects  you  have." 

"  Look'ee  here,  Pip,"  said  he,  laying  his 
hand  on  my  arm  in  a  suddenly  altered  and 
subdued  manner ;  "  first  of  all,  look'ee  here. 
I  forgot  myself  half  a  minute  ago.  What  I 
said  was  low;  that's  what  it  was;  low. 
Look'ee  here,  Pip.  Look  over  it.  I  ain't  a 
ffoino-  to  be  low." 

"  First,"  I  resumed,  half  groaning,  "what 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  13 

precautions  can  be  taken  against  your  being 
recognised  and  seized?" 

"  No,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  in  the  same  tone 
as  before,  "that  don't  go  first.  LoAvness 
goes  first.  I  ain't  took  so  many  year  to 
make  a  gentleman,  not  without  knowing 
what's  due  to  him,  Look'ee  here,  Pip.  I 
was  low ;  that's  what  I  was ;  low.  Look 
over  it,  dear  boy," 

Some  sense  of  the  grimly-ludicrous  moved 
me  to  a  fretful  laugh,  as  I  replied,  "  I  have 
looked  over  it.  In  Heaven's  name,  don't 
harp  upon  it !" 

"  Yes,  but  look'ee  here,"  he  persisted. 
"  Dear  boy,  I  ain't  come  so  fur  to  be 
low.  Now,  go  on,  dear  boy.  You  was  a 
saying " 

"  How  are  you  to  be  guarded  from  the 
danger  you  have  incurred  ?" 

"  Well,  dear  boy,  the  danger  ain't  so  great. 
Without  I  was  informed  agen,  the  danger 
ain't  so  much  to  signify.  There's  daggers, 
and  there's  Wemmick,  and  there's  you. 
Who  else  is  there  to  inform  ?" 

"  Is  there  no  chance  person  who  might 
identify  you  in  the  street?"  said  I. 


14  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  "  there  ain't  many. 
Nor  yet  I  don't  intend  to  advertise  myself 
in  the  neAvspapers  by  the  name  of  A.  M.  come 
back  from  Botany  Bay;  and  years  have 
rolled  aAvay,  and  who's  to  gain  by  it  ?  Still, 
look'ee  here,  Pip.  If  the  danger  had  been 
fifty  times  as  great,  I  should  ha'  come  to  see 
you,  mind  you,  just  the  same." 

"  And  how  long  do  you  remain?" 

"  How  long?"  said  he,  taking  his  black 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  dropping  his  jaw 
as  he  stared  at  me.  "  I'm  not  a  going  back. 
I've  come  for  good." 

''  Where  are  you  to  live  ?"  said  I.  "  What 
is  to  be  done  with  you  ?  Where  will  you  be 
safe?" 

"Dear  boy,"  he  returned,  "there's  dis- 
guising wigs  can  be  bought  for  money,  and 
there's  hair  powder,  and  spectacles,  and 
black  clothes — shorts  and  what  not.  Others 
has  done  it  safe  afore,  and  what  others  has 
done  afore,  others  can  do  agen.  As  to  the 
where  and  how  of  living,  dear  boy,  give  me 
your  own  opinions  on  it." 

"  You  take   it   smoothly  now,"   said   I, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  15 

"  but  you  were  very  serious  last  niglit,  when 
you  swore  it  was  Death." 

"  And  so  I  swear  it  is  Death,"  said  he, 
putting  his  pipe  back  in  his  mouth,  "  and 
Death  by  the  rope,  in  the  open  street  not 
fur  from  this,  and  it's  serious  that  you 
should  fully  understand  it  to  be  so.  What 
then,  when  that's  once  done  ?  Here  I  am. 
To  go  back  now,  'ud  be  as  bad  as  to  stand 
ground — worse.  Besides,  Pip,  I'm  here, 
because  I've  meant  it  by  you,  years  and 
years.  As  to  what  I  dare,  I'm  a  old  bird 
now,  as  has  dared  all  manner  of  traps  since 
first  he  was  fleda-ed,  and  I'm  not  afeerd  to 
perch  upon  a  scarecrow.  If  there's  Death 
hid  inside  of  it,  there  is,  and  let  him  come 
out,  and  I'll  face  him,  and  then  I'll  believe 
in  him  and  not  afore.  And  now  let  me 
have  a  look  at  my  gentleman  agen." 

Once  more,  he  took  me  by  both  hands 
and  surveyed  me  with  an  air  of  admiring 
proprietorship  :  smoking  with  great  com- 
placency all  the  while. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  I  could  do  no 
better  than  secure  him  some  qpiet  lodging 


16  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

hard  by,  of  which  he  might  take  possession 
when  Herbert  returned  :  whom  I  expected 
in  two  or  three  days.  That  the  secret  must 
be  confided  to  Herbert  as  a  matter  of  un- 
avoidable necessity,  even  if  I  could  have 
put  the  immense  relief  I  should  derive  from 
sharing  it  with  him  out  of  the  question, 
was  plain  to  me.  But  it  was  by  no  means 
so  plain  to  Mr.  Provis  (I  resolved  to  call 
him  by  that  name),  who  reserved  his  con- 
sent to  Herbert's  participation  until  he 
should  have  seen  him  and  formed  a  favour- 
able judgment  of  his  physiognomy.  "  And 
even  then,  dear  boy,"  said  he,  pulling  a 
greasy  little  clasped  black  Testament  out  of 
his  pocket,  "we'll  have  him  on  his  oath." 

To  state  that  my  terrible  patron  carried 
this  little  black  book  about  the  world  solely  to 
swear  people  on  in  cases  of  emergency,  would 
be  to  state  what  I  never  quite  established 
— ^but  this  I  can  say,  that  I  never  knew  him 
put  it  to  any  other  use.  The  book  itself 
had  the  appearance  of  having  been  stolen 
from  some  court  of  justice,  and  perhaps  his 
knowledge  of  its  antecedents,  combined  with 
his  own  experience  in  that  wise,  gave  him  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  17 

reliance  on  its  powers  as  a  sort  of  legal  spell 
or  charm.  On  this  first  occasion  of  his  pro- 
ducing it,  I  recalled  how  he  had  made  me 
swear  fidelity  in  the  churchyard  long  ago, 
and  how  he  had  described  himself  last  night 
as  always  swearing  to  his  resolutions  in  his 
solitude. 

As  he  was  at  present  dressed  in  a  seafar- 
ing slop  suit,  in  which  he  looked  as  if  he 
had  some  parrots  and  cigars  to  dispose  of, 
I  next  discussed  with  him  what  dress  he 
should  wear.  He  cherished  an  extraor- 
dinary belief  in  the  virtues  of  "  shorts"  as  a 
disguise,  and  had  in  his  own  mind  sketched 
a  dress  for  himself  that  would  have  made 
him  something  between  a  dean  and  a  den- 
tist. It  was  with  considerable  difficulty 
that  I  won  him  over  to  the  assumption  of  a 
dress  more  like  a  prosperous  farmer's ;  and 
we  arranged  that  he  should  cut  his  hair 
close,  and  wear  a  little  powder.  Lastly,  as 
he  had  not  yet  been  seen  by  the  laundress 
or  her  niece,  he  was  to  keep  himself  out  of 
their  -view  until  his  change  of  dress  was 
made. 

It  would  seem  a  simple  matter  to  decide 

VOL.  ni.  c 


18  GREAT  EXl'ECTATIONS. 

on  these  precautions  ;  but  in  my  dazed,  not 
to  say  distracted,  state,  it  took  so  long,  that 
I  did  not  get  out  to  further  them,  until  two 
or  three  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  to  re- 
main shut  up  in  the  chambers  while  I  was 
gone,  and  was  on  no  account  to  open  the 
door. 

There  being  to  my  knowledge  a  respect- 
able lodging-house  in  Essex-street,  the  back 
of  which  looked  into  the  Temple,  and  was 
almost  within  hail  of  my  windows,  I  first  of 
all  repaired  to  that  house,  and  was  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  secure  the  second  floor  for  my 
uncle,  Mr.  Provis.  I  then  went  from  shop 
to  shop,  making  such  purchases  as  were 
necessary  to  the  change  in  his  appearance. 
This  business  transacted,  I  turned  my  face, 
on  my  own  account,  to  Little  Britain.  Mr. 
Jaggers  was  at  his  desk,  but,  seeing  me 
enter,  got  up  immediately  and  stood  before 
his  fire. 

"  Now,  Pip,"  said  he,  "  be  careful." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  I  returned.  For,  I  had 
thought  well  of  what  I  was  going  to  say 
coming  along. 

"  Don't  commit  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Jag- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  19 

gers,  "and  don't  commit  any  one.  You 
understand — any  one.  Don't  tell  me  any- 
thing :  I  don't  want  to  know  anything ;  I 
am  not  curious." 

Of  course  I  saw  that  he  knew  the  man 
was  come. 

"  I  merely  want,  Mr.  Jaggers,"  said  I, 
"to  assure  myself  that  what  I  have  been 
told,  is  true.  I  have  no  hope  of  its  being 
untrue,  but  at  least  I  may  verify  it." 

Mr.  Jaggers  nodded.  "  But  did  you  say 
Hold'  or  'informed'?"  he  asked  me,  with 
his  head  on  one  side,  and  not  looking  at 
me,  but  looking  in  a  listening  way  at  the 
floor.  "  Told  would  seem  to  imply  verbal 
communication.  You  can't  have  verbal 
communication  with  a  man  in  New  South 
Wales,  you  know." 

"  I  will  say,  informed,  Mr.  Jaggers." 

"  Good." 

"  I  have  been  informed  by  a  person 
named  Abel  Magwitch,  that  he  is  the  bene- 
factor so  long  unknown  to  me." 

"  That  is  the  man,"  said  Mr.  Jao-jrer?, 
"—in  New  South  Wales." 

"And  only  he?"  said  I. 
c2 


20  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  And  only  lie,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  I  am  not  so  unreasonable,  sir,  as  to 
think  you  at  all  responsible  for  my  mistakes 
and  wrong  conclusions;  but  I  always  sup- 
posed it  was  Miss  Havisham." 

''  As  you  say,  Pip,"  returned  Mr.  Jaggers, 
turning  his  eyes  upon  me  coolly,  and  taking 
a  bite  at  his  forefinger,  "  I  am  not  at  all  re- 
sponsible for  that." 

"  And  yet  it  looked  so  like  it,  sir,"  I 
pleaded  with  a  doA\'ncast  heart. 

"  Not  a  particle  of  evidence,  Pip,"  said 
Mr.  Jaggers,  shaking  his  head  and  gather- 
ing up  his  skirts.  "Take  nothing  on  its 
looks ;  take  everything  on  evidence.  There's 
no  better  rule." 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,"  said  I,  with  a 
sigh,  after  standing  silent  for  a  little  while. 
"  I  have  verified  my  infonnation,  and  there 
an  end." 

"  And  Mag^vitch — in  Kew  South  Wales — 
ha\dno:  at  last  disclosed  himself"  said  Mr. 
Jaggers,  "3'ou  will  comprehend,  Pip,  how 
rigidly  throughout  my  communication  with 
you,  I  have  alwa3's  adhered  to  the  strict  line 
of  fact.     There  has  never  been  the  least  de- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  21 

parture  from  the  strict  line  of  fact.  You 
are  quite  aware  of  that?" 

"  Quite,  sir." 

"  I  communicated  to  Magwitch — in  New 
South  Wales — ^Yh.en  he  first  wrote  to  me — 
from  New  South  "Wales — the  caution  that 
he  must  not  expect  me  ever  to  deviate  from 
the  strict  line  of  fact.  I  also  communicated 
to  him  another  caution.  He  appeared  to 
me  to  have  obscurely  hinted  in  his  letter  at 
some  distant  idea  he  had  of  seeing  you  in 
England  here.  I  cautioned  him  that  I  must 
hear  no  more  of  that ;  that  he  was  not  at  all 
likely  to  obtain  a  pardon ;  that  he  was  ex- 
patriated for  the  term  of  his  natural  life; 
and  that  his  presenting  himself  in  this 
country  would  be  an  act  of  felony,  render- 
ing him  liable  to  the  extreme  penalty  of  the 
law.  I  gave  Magmtch  that  caution,"  said 
Mr.  Jao-o-ers,  lookino^  hard  at  me  ;  "I  wrote 
it  to  New  South  Wales.  He  guided  himself 
by  it,  no  doubt." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  I. 

"  I  have  been  informed  by  Wemmick," 
pursued  Mr.  Jaggers,  still  looking  hard  at 
me,  "that  he  has  received  a  letter,  under 


22  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

date   Portsmouth,    from   a   colonist  of  the 
name  of  Purvis,  or " 

"  Or  Provis,"  I  suggested. 

"  Or  Provis — thank  you,  Pip.  Perhaps 
it  is  Provis?  Perhaps  you  know  it's 
Provis?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  You  know  it's  Provis.  A  letter,  under 
date  Portsmouth,  from  a  colonist  of  the 
name  of  Provis,  asking  for  the  particulars 
of  your  address,  on  behalf  of  Mag"VNitch. 
Wemmick  sent  him  the  particulars,  I  under- 
stand, by  return  of  post.  Probably  it  is 
through  Provis  that  you  have  received  the 
explanation  of  ]\Iagwitch — in  New  South 
Wales?" 

"  It  came  through  Provis,"  I  replied. 

"  Good  day,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  offer- 
ing his  hand  ;  "  glad  to  have  seen  you.  In 
Avriting  by  post  to  Magwitch — in  New  South 
Wales — or  in  communicating  with  him 
through  Provis,  have  the  goodness  to  men- 
tion that  the  particulars  and  vouchers  of 
our  long  account  shall  be  sent  to  you,  toge- 
ther with  the  balance;  for  there  is  still  a 
balance  remaining.     Good  day,  Pip !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  23 

We  shook  hands,  and  he  looked  hard  at 
me  as  long  as  he  could  see  me.  I  turned 
at  the  door,  and  he  was  still  looking  hard 
at  me,  while  the  two  vile  casts  on  the  shelf 
seemed  to  be  trjdng  to  get  their  eyelids  open, 
and  to  force  out  of  their  swollen  throats, 
''  0,  what  a  man  he  is  !" 

Wemmick  was  out,  and  though  he  had 
been  at  his  desk  he  could  have  done  nothing 
for  me.  I  went  straight  back  to  the  Tem- 
ple, where  I  found  the  terrible  Provis  drink- 
ing rum-and- water  and  smoking  negro-head, 
in  safety. 

Next  day  the  clothes  I  had  ordered,  all 
came  home,  and  he  put  them  on.  What- 
ever he  put  on,  became  him  less  (it  dismally 
seemed  to  me)  than  what  he  had  worn  before. 
To  my  thinking,  there  was  something  in 
him  that  made  it  hopeless  to  attempt  t^^dis- 
guise  him.  The  more  I  dressed  him  and 
the  better  I  dressed  him,  the  more  he  looked 
like  the  slouchino;  fugitive  on  the  marshes. 
This  effect  on  my  anxious  fancy  was  partly 
referable,  no  doubt,  to  his  old  face  and  man- 
ner growing  more  familiar  to  me ;  but  I  be- 
lieve too  that  he  dragged  one  of  his  legs  as 


24  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

if  there  were  still  a  weight  of  iron  on  it,  and 
that  from  head  to  foot  there  was  Convict  in 
the  very  grain  of  the  man. 

The  influences  of  his  solitaiy  hut-life  were 
upon  him  besides,  and  gave  him  a  savage 
air  that  no  dress  could  tame ;  added  to 
these,  were  the  influences  of  his  subsequent 
branded  life  among  men,  and,  crowning  all, 
his  consciousness  that  he  was  dodo-ino;  and 
hiding  now.  In  all  his  ways  of  sitting  and 
standing,  and  eating  and  drinking — of  brood- 
ing about,  in  a  high-shouldered  reluctant 
style — of  taking  out  his  gTcat  horn-handled 
jack-knife  and  wiping  it  on  his  legs  and 
cuttino-  his  food — of  liftino;  lio-ht  glasses  and 

o  coo 

cups  to  his  lips,  as  if  they  were  clumsy  pan- 
nikins— of  chopping  a  wedge  off  his  bread, 
and  soaking  up  with  it  the  last  fragments  of 
gra^  round  and  round  his  plate,  as  if  to 
make  the  most  of  an  allowance,  and  then 
drying  his  finger-ends  on  it,  and  then  swal- 
lowing it — in  these  ways  and  a  thousand 
other  small  nameless  instances  arising  every 
minute  in  the  day,  there  was  Prisoner,  Felon, 
Bondsman,  plain  as  plain  could  be. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  25 

It  had  been  his  own  idea  to  wear  that 
touch  of  powder,  and  I  had  conceded  the 
powder  after  overcoming  the  shorts.  But 
I  can  compare  the  eifect  of  it,  when  on,  to 
nothing  but  the  probable  eifect  of  rouge 
upon  the  dead  ;  so  a\vful  was  the  manner  in 
which  everything  in  him  that  it  was  most 
desirable  to  repress,  started  through  that 
thin  layer  of  pretence,  and  seemed  to  come 
blazing  out  at  the  crown  of  his  head.  It  was 
abandoned  as  soon  as  tried,  and  he  wore  his 
grizzled  hair  cut  short. 

Words  cannot  tell  what  a  sense  I  had,  at 
the  same  time,  of  the  dreadful  mystery  that 
he  was  to  me.  When  he  fell  asleep  of  an 
evening,  Avith  his  knotted  hands  clenching 
the  sides  of  the  easy-chair,  and  his  bald  head 
tattooed  with  deep  -smnkles  falling  forward 
on  his  breast,  I  would  sit  and  look  at -him, 
wonderino-  what  he  had  done,  and  loadino^ 
him  with  all  the  crimes  in  the  Calendar, 
until  the  impulse  was  powerful  on  me  to 
start  up  and  fly  from  him.  Every  hour  so 
increased  my  abhorrence  of  him,  that  I  even 
think  I  might  have  yielded  to  this  impulse 


26  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ill  the  first  agonies  of  being  so  haunted,  not- 
withstanding all  he  had  done  for  me,  and 
the  risk  he  ran,  but  for  the  knowledge  that 
Herbert  must  soon  come  back.  Once,  I 
actually  did  start  out  of  bed  in  the  nighty 
and  begin  to  dress  myself  in  my  worst 
clothes,  hurriedly  intending  to  leave  him 
there  with  everything  else  I  possessed,  and 
enlist  for  India  as  a  private  soldier. 

I  doubt  if  a  ghost  could  have  been  more 
terrible  to  me,  up  in  those  lonely  rooms  in 
the  long  evenings  and  long  nights,  with  the 
Avind  and  the  rain  always  rushing  by.  A 
ghost  could  not  have  been  taken  and  hanged 
on  my  account,  and  the  consideration  that 
he  could  be,  and  the  dread  that  he  would  be, 
were  no  small  addition  to  my  horrors.  When 
he  was  not  asleep,  or  playing  a  complicated 
kind  of  Patience  with  a  ragged  pack  of  cards 
of  his  own — a  game  that  I  never  saw  before 
or  since,  and  in  which  he  recorded  his  win- 
nings by  sticking  his  jack-knife  into  the 
table — when  he  Avas  not  enfyaixed  in  either 
of  these  pursuits,  he  would  ask  me  to  read 
to  him — "  Foreign  language,  dear  boy  !" 
While  I  complied,  he,  not  comprehending  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  27 

single  word,  would  stand  before  the  fire  sur- 
veying me  with  the  air  of  an  Exhibitor,  and 
I  would  see  him,  between  the  fingers  of  the 
hand  with  which  I  shaded  my  face,  appeal- 
ing in  dumb  show  to  the  furniture  to  take 
notice  of  my  proficiency.  The  imaginary 
student  pursued  by  the  misshapen  creature 
he  had  impiously  made,  was  not  more 
wretched  than  I,  pursued  by  the  creature 
who  had  made  me,  and  recoiling  from  him 
with  a  stronger  repulsion,  the  more  he  ad- 
mired me  and  the  fonder  he  was  of  me. 

This  is  written  of,  I  am  sensible,  as  if  it 
had  lasted  a  year.  It  lasted  about  five  days. 
Expecting  Herbert  all  the  time,  I  dared  not 
go  out,  except  when  I  took  Provis  for  an 
airing  after  dark.  At  length,  one  evening 
when  dinner  was  over  and  1  had  dropped 
into  a  slumber  quite  worn  out — for  my 
nights  had  been  agitated  and  my  rest  broken 
by  fearful  dreams — I  was  roused  by  the 
welcome  footstep  on  the  staircase.  Provis, 
who  had  been  asleep  too,  staggered  up  at 
the  noise  I  made,  and  in  an  instant  I  saw 
his  jack-knife  shining  in  his  hand. 

"  Quiet !     It's  Herbert !"  I  said ;  and  Her- 


28  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

bert  came  bursting  in,  with  the  airy  fresh- 
ness of  six  hundred  miles  of  France  upon 
him. 

"  Handel,  my  dear  fellow,  how  are  you, 
and  again  how  are  you,  and  again  how  are 
you  ?  I  seem  to  have  been  gone  a  twelve- 
month !  Why,  so  I  must  have  been,  for 
you  have  gro\^^l  quite  thin  and  pale !  Han- 
del, my Halloa!     I  beg  your  pardon." 

He  was  stopped  in  his  running  on  and  in 
his  shaking  hands  with  me,  by  seeing  Provis. 
Provis,  regarding  him  with  a  fixed  attention, 
was  slowly  putting  up  his  jack-knife,  and 
groping  in  another  pocket  for  something 
else. 

"  Herbert,  my  dear  friend,"  said  I,  shut- 
ting the  double  doors,  Avhile  Herbert  stood 
staring  and  wondering,  "something  very 
strange  has  happened.  This  is — a  visitor 
of  mine." 

"  It's  all  right,  dear  boy !"  said  Provis 
coming  forward,  with  his  little  clasped  black 
book,  and  then  addressing  himself  to  Her- 
bert. "  Take  it  in  your  right  hand.  Lord 
strike  you  dead  on  the  spot,  if  ever  you  split 
in  any  way  sumever  !     Kiss  it !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  29 

"Do  SO,  as  lie  wishes  it,"  I  said  to  Her- 
bert. So,  Herbert,  looking  at  me  with  a 
friendly  uneasiness  and  amazement,  com- 
plied, and  Provis  immediately  shaking  hands 
with  him,  said,  "Now  you're  on  your  oath, 
you  know.  And  never  believe  me  on  mine, 
if  Pip  shan't  make  a  gentleman  on  you !" 


30  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  vain  should  I  attempt  to  describe  the 
astonishment  and  disquiet  of  Herbert,  when 
he  and  I  and  Provis  sat  doAvn  before  the 
fire,  and  I  recounted  the  whole  of  the  secret. 
Enough,  that  I  saw  my  oAvn  feelings  reflected 
in  Herbert's  face,  and,  not  least  among 
them,  my  repugnance  towards  the  man  who 
had  done  so  much  for  me. 

What  would  alone  have  set  a  di^'ision 
between  that  man  and  us,  if  there  had  been 
no  other  dividing  circumstance,  was  his 
triumph  in  my  story.  Saving  his  trouble- 
some sense  of  havino;  been  "low"  on  one 
occasion  since  his  return — on  which  point 
he   began   to   hold   forth   to   Herbert,  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  31 

moment  my  revelation  was  finished — he 
had  no  perception  of  the  possibility  of  my 
finding  any  fault  with  my  good  fortune. 
His  boast  that  he  had  made  me  a  gentle- 
man, and  that  he  had  come  to  see  me  sup- 
port the  character  on  his  ample  resources, 
was  made  for  me  quite  as  much  as  for  him- 
self; and  that  it  was  a  highly  agreeable 
boast  to  both  of  us,  and  that  we  must  both 
be  very  proud  of  it,  was  a  conclusion  quite 
established  in  his  own  mind. 

"Though,  look'ee  here,  Pip's  comrade," 
he  said  to  Herbert,  after  having  discoursed 
for  some  time,  "  I  know  very  well  that  once 
since  I  come  back — for  half  a  minute — I've 
been  low.  I  said  to  Pip,  I  knowed  as  I  had 
been  low.  But  don't  you  fret  yourself  on 
that  score.  I  ain't  made  Pip  a  gentleman, 
and  Pip  ain't  agoing  to  make  you  a  gentle- 
man, not  fur  me  not  to  know  what's  due  to 
ye  both.  Dear  boy,  and  Pip's  comrade, 
you  two  may  count  upon  me  always  ha\dng 
a  gen-teel  muzzle  on.  Muzzled  I  have  been 
since  that  half  a  minute  when  I  was  be- 
trayed into  lowness,  muzzled  I  am  at  the 
present  time,  muzzled  I  ever  will  be." 


32  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Herbert  said,  "  Certainly,"  but  looked  as 
if  there  were  no  specific  consolation  in  this, 
and  remained  perplexed  and  dismayed.  We 
were  anxious  for  the  time  when  he  would 
go  to  his  lodging,  and  leave  us  together, 
but  he  was  evidently  jealous  of  leaving  us 
together,  and  sat  late.  It  was  midnight 
before  I  took  him  round  to  Essex-street, 
and  saw  him  safely  in  at  his  own  dark  door. 
When  it  closed  upon  him,  I  experienced  the 
first  moment  of  relief  I  had  knoA\m  since  the 
night  of  his  arrival. 

Never  quite  free  from  an  uneasy  remem- 
brance of  the  man  on  the  stairs,  I  had 
always  looked  about  me  in  taking  my  guest 
out  after  dark,  and  in  bringing  him  back ; 
and  I  looked  about  me  now.  Difficult  as 
it  is  in  a  large  city  to  avoid  the  suspicion 
of  being  watched,  Avhen  the  mind  is  con- 
scious of  danger  in  that  regard,  I  could  not 
persuade  myself  that  any  of  the  people 
within  sight  cared  about  my  movements. 
The  few  who  were  passing,  passed  on  their 
several  ways,  and  the  street  was  empty 
when  I  turned  back  into  the  Temple.  No- 
body had  come  out  at  the  gate  with  us,  no- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  33 

body  went  in  at  the  gate  with  me.  As  I 
crossed  by  the  fountain,  I  saw  his  lighted 
back  windows  looking  bright  and  quiet,  and, 
when  I  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  the 
doorway  of  the  building  where  I  lived,  be- 
fore going  up  the  stairs.  Garden-court  was 
as  still  and  lifeless  as  the  staircase  was  when 
I  ascended  it. 

Herbert  received  me  with  open  arms, 
and  I  had  never  felt  before,  so  blessedly, 
what  it  is  to  have  a  friend.  When  he  had 
spoken  some  sound  words  of  sympathy  and 
encouragement,  we  sat  do^vn  to  consider 
the  question.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 

The  chair  that  Provis  had  occupied  stiU 
remaining  where  it  had  stood — ^for  he  had 
a  barrack  way  with  him  of  hanging  about 
one  spot,  in  one  unsettled  manner,  and 
going  through  one  round  of  observances 
mth  his  pipe  and  his  negro-head  and  his 
jack-knife  and  his  pack  of  cards,  and  what 
not,  as  if  it  were  all  put  down  for  him  on  a 
slate — I  say,  his  chair  remaining  where  it 
had  stood,  Herbert  unconsciously  took  it, 
but  next  moment  started  out  of  it,  pushed 
it  away,  and  took  another.     He  had  no  oc- 

VOL.  III.  D 


34  GREAT  EXTECTATIONS. 

casion  to  say,  after  that,  that  he  had  con- 
ceived an  aversion  for  my  patron,  neither 
had  I  occasion  to  confess  my  own.  We  in- 
terchanged that  confidence  without  shaping 
a  syllable. 

"  What,"  said  I  to  Herbert,  when  he 
was  safe  in  another  chair,  "  what  is  to  be 
done?" 

"My  poor  dear  Handel,"  he  replied, 
holding  his  head,  "  I  am  too  stunned  to 
think." 

"  So  was  I,  Herbert,  when  the  blow  first 
fell.  Still,  something  must  be  done.  He 
is  intent  upon  various  new  expenses  — 
horses,  and  carriages,  and  lavish  appear- 
ances of  all  kinds.  He  must  be  stopped 
somehow." 

"  You  mean  that  you  can't  accept ?" 

"  How  can  I  ?"  I  interposed,  as  Herbert 
paused.     "  Think  of  him  !     Look  at  him  !" 

An  involuntary  shudder  passed  over  both 
of  us. 

"Yet  I  am  afraid  the  dreadful  truth  is, 
Herbert,  that  he  is  attached  to  me,  strongly 
attached  to  me.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
fate!" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  35 

"My  poor  dear  Handel,"  Herbert  re- 
peated. 

"Then,"  said  I,  "after  all,  stopping  sliort 
here,  never  taking  another  penny  from  him, 
think  what  I  owe  him  already !  Then  again  : 
I  am  heavily  in  debt — very  heavily  for  me, 
who  have  now  no  expectations — and  I  have 
been  bred  to  no  calling,  and  I  am  fit  for 
nothing." 

"  Well,  well,  well !"'  Herbert  remonstrated. 
"  Don't  say  fit  for  nothing." 

"  What  am  I  fit  for?  I  know  only  one 
thing  that  I  am  fit  for,  and  that  is,  to  go 
for  a  soldier.  And  I  might  have  gone,  my 
dear  Herbert,  but  for  the  prospect  of  taking 
counsel  with  your  friendship  and  afi'ection." 

Of  course  I  broke  dovna.  there ;  and  of 
course  Herbert,  beyond  seizing  a  warm  gTip 
of  my  hand,  pretended  not  to  know  it. 

"  Anyhow,  my  dear  Handel,"  said  he 
presently,  "  soldiering  won't  do.  If  you 
were  to  renounce  this  patronage  and  these 
favours,  I  suppose  you  would  do  so  with 
some  faint  hope  of  one  day  repaying  what 
you  have  already  had.  Xot  very  strong, 
that  hope,  if  you  went  soldiering  !  Besides, 
d2 


36  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

.•f'«  oK^urd.     You  ^vo-^ld  be  in^-*--Jv  better 


n 


he  miglit  clo,  under  the  disai^i^ointment  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  it,  Herbert,  and  dreamed  of 
it,  ever  since  the  fotal  night  of  his  arrival. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  37 

Nothing  has  been  in  my  thoughts  so  dis- 
tinctly, as  his  putting  himself  in  the  way  of 
being  taken." 

"  Then  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  Her- 
bert, "  that  there  would  be  great  danger  of 
his  doing  it.  That  is  his  power  over  you  as 
long  as  he  remains  in  England,  and  that 
would  be  his  reckless  course  if  you  forsook 
him." 

I  was  so  struck  by  the  horror  of  this 
idea,  which  had  weighed  upon  me  from 
the  first,  and  the  working  out  of  which 
would  make  me  regard  mj^self,  in  some  sort, 
as  his  murderer,  that  I  could  not  rest  in  my 
chair  but  began  pacing  to  and  fro,  I  said 
to  Herbert,  meanwhile,  that  even  if  Provis 
were  recognised  and  taken,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, I  should  be  wretched  as  the  cause, 
however  innocently.  Yes ;  even  though  I 
was  so  wretched  in  havino;  him  at  laro-e  and 
near  me,  and  even  though  I  would  far  far 
rather  have  worked  at  the  forge  all  the  days 
of  my  life  than  I  would  ever  have  come  to 
this! 

But  there  was  no  raving  off  the  question,     ^nun^ 
What  was  to  be  done  ? 

"The   first   and   the   main   thing:  to  be 


'36  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

it's  absurd.  You  would  be  infinitely  better 
in  Clarriker's  house,  small  as  it  is.  I  am 
working  up  towards  a  partnership,  you 
know." 

Poor  fellow !  He  little  suspected  with 
whose  money. 

"  But  there  is  another  question,"  said 
Herbert.  "This  is  an  ignorant  determined 
man,  who  has  long  had  one  fixed  idea. 
More  than  that,  he  seems  to  me  (I  may 
misjudge  him)  to  be  a  man  of  a  desperate 
and  fierce  character." 

"  I  know  he  is,"  I  returned.  "  Let  me 
tell  you  what  evidence  I  have  seen  of  it." 
And  I  told  him  what  I  had  not  mentioned 
in  my  narrative ;  of  that  encounter  with  the 
other  convict. 

"  See,  then,"  said  Herbert ;  "  think  of 
this !  He  comes  here  at  the  peril  of  his  life, 
for  the  realisation  of  his  fixed  idea.  In  the 
moment  of  realisation,  after  all  his  toil  and 
waiting,  you  cut  the  ground  from  under  his 
feet,  destroy  his  idea,  and  make  his  gains 
worthless  to  him.  Do  you  see  nothing  that 
he  might  do,  under  the  disappointment  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  it,  Herbert,  and  dreamed  of 
it,  ever  since  the  fatal  night  of  his  arrival. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  37 

Nothing  has  been  in  my  thoughts  so  dis- 
tinctly, as  his  putting  himself  in  the  way  of 
being  taken." 

"  Then  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  Her- 
bert, "that  there  would  be  great  danger  of 
his  doing  it.  That  is  his  power  over  you  as 
long  as  he  remains  in  England,  and  that 
would  be  his  reckless  course  if  you  forsook 
him." 

I  was  so  struck  by  the  horror  of  this 
idea,  which  had  weighed  upon  me  from 
the  first,  and  the  w^orking  out  of  which 
would  make  me  regard  myself,  in  some  sort, 
as  his  murderer,  that  I  could  not  rest  in  my 
chair  but  began  pacing  to  and  fro.  I  said 
to  Herbert,  meanwhile,  that  even  if  Provis 
were  recognised  and  taken,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, I  should  be  "wretched  as  the  cause, 
however  innocently.  Yes ;  even  though  I 
was  so  wretched  in  having  him  at  large  and 
near  me,  and  even  though  I  would  far  far 
rather  have  worked  at  the  forge  all  the  days 
of  my  life  than  I  would  ever  have  come  to 
this! 

But  there  was  no  raving  off  the  question,     ^^ 
What  Avas  to  be  done  ? 

"The   first   and   the   main   thing  to  be 


38  GREAT  EXPECTATION'S. 

done,"  said  Herbert,  "  is  to  get  liim  out  of 
England.  You  will  have  to  go  with  him, 
and  then  he  may  be  induced  to  go." 

"  But  get  him  where  I  will,  could  I  pre- 
vent his  coming  back?" 

"  My  good  Handel,  is  it  not  obvious  that 
with  Newgate  in  the  next  street,  there  must 
be  far  greater  hazard  in  your  breaking  your 
mind  to  him  and  making  him  reckless,  here, 
than  elsewhere.  If  a  pretext  to  get  him 
away  could  be  made  out  of  that  other  con- 
vict, or  out  of  anything  else  in  his  life, 
now." 

"  There,  again  !"  said  I,  stopping  before 
Herbert,  with  my  open  hands  held  out,  as  if 
they  contained  the  desperation  of  the  case. 
"  I  know  nothing  of  his  life.  It  has  almost 
made  me  mad  to  sit  here  of  a  night  and  see 
him  before  me,  so  bound  up  with  my  for- 
tunes and  misfortunes,  and  yet  so  unknown 
to  me,  except  as  the  miserable  A\Tetch  who 
terrified  me  two  days  in  my  childhood !" 

Herbert  got  up,  and  linked  his  arm  in 
mine,  and  we  slowly  walked  to  and  fro 
together,  studying  the  carpet. 

"  Handel,"  said  Herbert,  stopping,  "you 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  39 

feel  convinced  that  you  can  take  no  further 
benefits  from  hhn ;  do  you  ?" 

"  Fully,  Surely  you  would,  too,  if  you 
were  in  my  place  ?" 

"  And  you  feel  convinced  that  you  must 
break  Avith  him  ?" 

"  Herbert,  can  you  ask  me  ?" 

"  And  you  have,  and  are  bound  to  have, 
that  tenderness  for  the  life  he  has  risked  on 
your  account,  that  you  must  save  him,  if 
possible,  from  throwing  it  away.  Then  you 
must  get  him  out  of  England  before  you 
stir  a  finger  to  extricate  yourself.  That 
done,  extricate  yourself,  in  Heaven's  name, 
and  we'll  see  it  out  together,  dear  old  boy." 

It  was  a  comfort  to  shake  hands  upon  it, 
and  walk  up  and  down  again,  with  only 
that  done. 

"  Xow,  Herbert,"  said  I,  "  with  reference 
to  gaining  some  knowledge  of  his  history. 
There  is  but  one  way  that  I  know  of.  I 
must  ask  him  point-blank." 

"Yes.  Ask  him,"  said  Herbert,  "when 
we  sit  at  breakfast  in  the  morning."  For, 
he  had  said,  on  taking  leave  of  Herbert, 
that  he  would  come  to  breakfast  with  us. 


40  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

With  this  project  formed,  we  went  to  bed. 
I  had  the  wildest  dreams  concerning  him, 
and  woke  unrefreshed ;  I  woke,  too,  to  re- 
cover the  fear  which  I  hud  lost  in  the  night, 
of  his  being  found  out  as  a  returned  trans- 
port.    Waking,  I  never  lost  that  fear. 

He  came  round  at  the  appointed  time, 
took  out  his  jack-knife,  and  sat  down  to  his 
meal.  He  was  full  of  plans  "  for  his  gentle- 
man's coming  out  strong,  and  like  a  gentle- 
man," and  urged  me  to  begin  speedily  upon 
the  pocket-book,  which  he  had  left  in  my 
possession.  He  considered  the  chambers 
and  his  own  lodging  as  temporary  resi- 
dences, and  advised  me  to  look  out  at  once 
for  a  "fashionable  crib"  near  Hyde  Park, 
in  which  he  could  have  "  a  shake-do^vn." 
When  he  had  made  an  end  of  his  breakfast, 
and  was  wiping  his  knife  on  his  leg,  I  said 
to  him,  without  a  word  of  preface : 

"  After  you  were  gone  last  night,  I  told 
my  friend  of  the  struggle  that  the  soldiers 
found  you  engaged  in  on  the  marshes,  when 
we  came  up.     You  remember  ?" 

"  Remember !"  said  he.     "I  think  so  !" 

"  We  want  to  know  something  about  that 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  41 

man — and  about  you.  It  is  strange  to  know 
no  more  about  either,  and  particularly  you, 
than  I  was  able  to  tell  last  night.  Is  not 
this  as  good  a  time  as  another  for  our  know- 
ing more  ?" 

"  Well !"  he  said,  after  consideration. 
"  You're  on  your  oath,  you  know,  Pip's 
comrade  ?" 

"  Assuredly,"  replied  Herbert. 

"As  to  anything  I  say,  you  know,"  he 
insisted.     "The  oath  applies  to  all." 

"  I  understand  it  to  do  so." 

"  And  look'ee  here  !  Wotever  I  done, 
is  worked  out  and  paid  for,"  he  insisted 
again. 

"  So  be  it." 

He  took  out  his  black  pipe  and  was  going 
to  fill  it  with  negro-head,  when,  looking  at 
the  tangle  of  tobacco  in  his  hand,  he  seemed 
to  think  it  might  perplex  the  thread  of  his 
narrative.  He  put  it  back  again,  stuck  his 
pipe  in  a  button-hole  of  his  coat,  spread  a 
hand  on  each  knee,  and,  after  turning  an 
angry  eye  on  the  fire  for  a  few  silent  mo- 
ments, looked  round  at  us  and  said  what 
follows. 


42  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Dear  boy  and  Pip's  comrade.  I  am 
not  a  going  fur  to  tell  you  my  life,  like  a 
song  or  a  story-book.  But  to  give  it  you 
short  and  handy,  I'll  put  it  at  once  into  a 
mouthful  of  English.  In  jail  and  out  of 
jail,  in  jail  and  out  of  jail,  in  jail  and  out  of 
jail.  There,  you've  got  it.  That's  my  life 
pretty  much,  do^n  to  such  times  as  I  got 
shij^ped  off,  arter  Pip  stood  my  friend. 

"  I've  been  done  everything  to,  pretty 
well — except  hanged.  I've  been  locked  up, 
as  much  as  a  silver  tea-kettle.  I've  been 
carted  here  and  carted  there,  and  put  out  of 
this  town  and  put  out  of  that  town,  and 
stuck  in  the  stocks,  and  whipped  and  worried 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  43 

and  drove.  I've  no  more  notion  where  I 
was  bom,  than  you  have — if  so  much.  I 
first  become  aware  of  myself,  do^vn  in  Essex, 
a  thieving  turnips  for  my  living.  Summun 
had  run  away  from  me — a  man — a  tinker — 
and  he'd  took  the  fire  with  him,  and  left  me 
wery  cold. 

"  I  know'd  my  name  to  be  Magwitch, 
chrisen'd  Abel.  How  did  I  know  it  ?  Much 
as  I  know'd  the  birds'  names  in  the  hedges 
to  be  chaffinch,  sparrer,  thrush.  I  might 
have  thought  it  was  all  lies  together,  only  as 
the  birds'  names  come  out  true,  I  supposed 
mine  did. 

"  So  fur  as  I. could  find,  there  warn't  a 
soul  that  see  young  Abel  Mag^^-itch,  with  as 
little  on  hun  as  in  him,  but  wot  caug-ht 
fright  at  him,  and  either  drove  him  ofi",  or 
took  him  up.  I  was  took  up,  took  up,  took 
up,  to  that  extent  that  I  reg'larly  grow'd  up 
took  up. 

"  This  is  the  way  it  was,  that  when  I  was 
a  ragged  little  creetur  as  much  to  be  pitied 
as  ever  I  see  (not  that  I  looked  in  the  glass, 
for  there  Avam't  many  insides  of  furnished 
houses  known  to  me),  I  got  the  name  of 


44  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

being  hardened,  '  This  is  a  terrible  har- 
dened one,'  they  says  to  prison  wisitors, 
picking  out  me.  'May  be  said  to  live  in 
jails,  this  boy.'  Then  they  looked  at  me,  and 
I  looked  at  them,  and  they  measured  my  head, 
some  on  'em — they  had  better  a  measured 
my  stomach — and  others  on  'em  giv  me  tracts 
what  I  couldn't  read,  and  made  me  speeches 
what  I  couldn't  unnerstand.  They  always 
went  on  agen  me  about  the  Devil.  But 
what  the  Devil  was  I  to  do  ?  I  must  put 
something  into  my  stomach,  mustn't  I? — 
Howsomever,  I'm  a  getting  low,  and  I  know 
what's  due.  Dear  boy  and  Pip's  comrade, 
don't  you  be  afeerd  of  me  being  low. 

"  Tramping,  begging,  thie\ing,  working 
sometimes  when  I  could — ^though  that  warn't 
as  often  as  you  may  think,  till  you  put  the 
question  whether  you  would  ha'  been  over 
ready  to  give  me  work  yourselves — a  bit  of 
a  poacher,  a  bit  of  a  labourer,  a  bit  of  a 
waggoner,  a  bit  of  a  haymaker,  a  bit  of  a 
hawker,  a  bit  of  most  things  that  don't  pay 
and  lead  to  trouble,  I  got  to  be  a  man.  A 
deserting  soldier  in  a  Travellers'  Rest,  what 
lay  hid  up  to  the  chin  under  a  lot  of  taturs, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  45 

learnt  me  to  read;  and  a  travelling  Giant 
what  signed  his  name  at  a  penny  a  time 
learnt  me  to  write.  I  warn't  locked  up  as 
often  now  as  formerly,  but  I  wore  out  my 
good  share  of  key-metal  still. 

"  At  Epsom  races,  a  matter  of  over  twenty 
year  ago,  I  got  acquainted  wi'  a  man  whose 
skull  I'd  crack  wi'  this  poker,  like  the  claw 
of  a  lobster,  if  I'd  got  it  on  this  hob.  His 
right  name  was  Compeyson ;  and  that's  the 
man,  dear  boy,  what  you  see  me  a  pounding 
in  the  ditch,  according  to  what  you  truly  told 
your  comrade  arter  I  was  gone  last  night. 

"  He  set  up  fur  a  gentleman,  this  Com- 
peyson, and  he'd  been  to  a  public  boarding- 
school  and  had  learning.  He  was  a  smooth 
one  to  talk,  and  was  a  dab  at  the  ways  of 
gentlefolks.  He  was  good-looking  too.  It 
was  the  night  afore  the  great  race,  when  I 
found  him  on  the  heath,  in  a  booth  that  I 
know'd  on.  Him  and  some  more  was  a  sit- 
ting among  the  tables  when  I  went  in,  and 
the  landlord  (which  had  a  knowledge  of  me, 
and  was  a  sporting  one)  called  him  out,  and 
said,  '  I  think  this  is  a  man  that  might  suit 
you' — meaning  I  was. 


46  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Compeyson,  he  looks  at  me  very  notic- 
ing, and  I  look  at  him.  He  has  a  watch  and 
a  chain  and  a  ring  and  a  breast-pin  and  a 
handsome  suit  of  clothes. 

"  '  To  judge  from  appearances,  you're  out 
of  luck,'  says  Compeyson  to  me. 

"  *  Yes,  master,  and  I've  never  been  in  it 
much.'  (I  had  come  out  of  Kingston  Jail  last 
on  a  vagrancy  committal.  Not  but  what  it 
might  have  been  for  something  else ;  but  it 
warn't.) 

"  '  Luck  changes,'  says  Compeyson ;  'per- 
liaps  yours  is  going  to  change.' 

"  I  says,  '  I  hope  it  may  be  so.  There's 
room.' 

"  '  What  can  you  do  ?'  says  Compeyson. 

"  '  Eat  and  drink,'  I  says ;  '  if  you'll  find 
the  materials.' 

"  Compeyson  laughed,  looked  at  me  again 
very  noticing,  giv  me  five  shillings,  and  ap- 
pointed me  for  next  night.     Same  place. 

"  I  went  to  Compeyson  next  night,  same 
place,  and  Compeyson  took  me  on  to  be  his 
man  and  pardner.  And  what  was  Compey- 
son's  business  in  which  we  was  to  go  pard- 
ners  ?     Compeyson's  business  was  the  swin- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  47 

dling,  hand^\Titing  forging,  stolen  bank-note 
passing,  and  such-like.  All  sorts  of  traps  as 
Compeyson  could  set  with  his  head,  and 
keep  his  own  legs  out  of  and  get  the  profits 
from  and  let  another  man  in  for,  was  Com- 
peyson's  business.  He'd  no  more  heart  than 
a  iron  file,  he  was  as  cold  as  death,  and  he 
had  the  head  of  the  Devil  afore  mentioned. 

"  There  was  another  in  with  Compey- 
son, as  was  called  Arthur — ^not  as  being  so 
chrisen'd,  but  as  a  surname.  He  was  in  a 
Dechne,  and  was  a  shadow  to  look  at.  Him 
and  Compeyson  had  been  in  a  bad  thing 
with  a  rich  lady  some  years  afore,  and  they'd 
made  a  pot  of  money  by  it ;  but  Compeyson 
betted  and  gamed,  and  he'd  have  run  through 
the  king's  taxes.  So,  Arthur  was  a  dying, 
and  a  dying  poor  and  with  the  horrors  on 
him,  and  Compeyson's  wife  (which  Compey- 
son kicked  mostly)  was  a  having  pity  on 
him  when  she  could,  and  Compeyson  was  a 
having  pity  on  nothing  and  nobody. 

"  I  might  a  took  warning  by  Arthur,  but 
I  didn't;  and  I  won't  pretend  I  was  par- 
tick'ler — for  where  'ud  be  the  good  on  it, 
dear  boy  and  comrade?     So  I  begun  wi' 


48  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Compeyson,  and  a  poor  tool  I  was  in  his 
hands.  Arthur  lived  at  the  top  of  Compey- 
son's  house  (over  nigh  Brentford  it  was),  and 
Compeyson  kept  a  careful  account  agen  him. 
for  board  and  lodging,  in  case  he  should  ever 
get  better  to  work  it  out.  But  Arthur  soon 
settled  the  account.  The  second  or  third 
time  as  ever  I  see  him,  he  come  a  tearing 
down  into  Compeyson's  parlour  late  at  night, 
in  only  a  flannel  gown,  with  his  hair  all  in 
a  sweat,  and  he  says  to  Compeyson's  wife, 
'  Sally,  she  really  is  up-stairs  alonger  me, 
now,  and  I  can't  get  rid  of  her.  She's  all 
in  white,'  he  says,  '  wi'  white  flowers  in  her 
hair,  and  she's  awful  mad,  and  she's  got  a 
shroud  hanging  over  her  arm,  and  she  says 
she'U  put  it  on  me  at  five  in  the  morning.' 

"  Says  Compeyson :  '  Why,  you  fool,  don't 
j'-ou  know  she's  got  a  living  body?  And 
how  should  she  be  up  there,  without  coming 
through  the  door,  or  in  at  the  window,  and 
up  the  stairs  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  know  how  she's  there,'  saj^s 
Arthur,  shivering  dreadful  with  the  horrors, 
'  but  she's  standing  in  the  comer  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  awful  mad.     And  over  where 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  49 

her  heart's  broke — you  broke   it! — there's 
drops  of  blood.' 

"  Compeyson  spoke  hardy,  but  he  was 
always  a  coward.  '  Go  up  alonger  this  dri- 
velling sick  man,'  he  says  to  his  wife,  'and 
Magwitch,  lend  her  a  hand,  will  you?'  But 
he  never  come  nigh  himself. 

"  Compeyson's  wife  and  me  took  him  up 
to  bed  agen,  and  he  raved  most  dreadful. 
'  Why  look  at  her !'  he  cries  out.  '  She's  a 
shaking  the  shroud  at  me !  Don't  you  see 
her  ?  Look  at  her  eyes !  Ain't  it  awful  to 
see  her  so  mad  ?'  Next,  he  cries,  '  She'll 
put  it  on  me,  and  then  I'm  done  for !  Take 
it  aAvay  from  her,  take  it  away !'  And  then 
he  catched  hold  of  us,  and  kep  on  a  talking 
to  her,  and  answering  of  her,  till  I  half  be- 
lieved I  see  her  myself. 

"  Compeyson's  wife,  being  used  to  him, 
giv  him  some  liquor  to  get  the  horrors  off, 
and  by-and-by  he  quieted.  *  Oh,  she's  gone! 
Has  her  keeper  been  for  her?'  he  says. 
'  Yes,'  says  Compeyson's  wife.  '  Did  you 
tell  him  to  lock  her  and  bar  her  in  ?'  '  Yes.' 
'  And  to  take  that  ugly  thing  away  from 
her?'    'Yes,  yes,  all  right.'    'You're  a  good 

VOL.  ni.  E 


50  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

creetur,'  he  says,  '  don't  leave  me,  whatever 
you  do,  and  thank  you  !' 

"  He  rested  pretty  quiet  till  it  might  want 
a  few  minutes  of  five,  and  then  he  starts  up 
■svith  a  scream,  and  screams  out,  '  Here  she 
is !  She's  got  the  shroud  again.  She's  un- 
foldino-  it.  She's  comino;  out  of  the  corner. 
She's  coming  to  the  bed.  Hold  me,  both  on 
you — one  of  each  side — don't  let  her  touch 
me  Avith  it.  Hah  !  she  missed  me  that  time. 
Don't  let  her  throw  it  over  my  shoulders. 
Don't  let  her  lift  me  up  to  get  it  round  me. 
She's  lifting  me  up.  Keep  me  do^vn  !'  Then 
he  lifted  himself  up  hard,  and  was  dead. 

"  Compeyson  took  it  easy  as  a  good  rid- 
dance for  both  sides.  Him  and  me  was 
soon  busy,  and  first  he  swore  me  (being 
ever  artful)  on  my  own  book — this  here 
little  black  book,  dear  boy,  what  I  swore 
your  comrade  on. 

"  Not  to  go  into  the  things  that  Compey- 
son planned,  and  I  done — which  'ud  take  a 
week — I'll  simply  say  to  you,  dear  boy,  and 
Pip's  comrade,  that  that  man  got  me  into 
such  nets  as  made  me  liis  black  slave.  I  was 
always  in  debt  to  him,  always  under  his 


GREAT  EXPECTATION'S.  51 

thumb,  always  a  working,  always  a  getting 
into  danger.  He  was  younger  than  me,  but 
he'd  got  craft,  and  he'd  got  learning,  and  he 
overmatched  me  five  hundred  times  told 
and  no  mercy.  My  Missis  as  I  had  the  hard 

time  wi' Stop  though !  I  ain't  brought 

her  in " 

He  looked  about  him  in  a  confused  way, 
as  if  he  had  lost  his  place  in  the  book  of  his 
remembrance ;  and  he  turned  his  face  to 
the  fire,  and  spread  his  hands  broader  on 
his  knees,  and  lifted  them  off  and  put  them 
on  a2:ain. 

"  There  ain't  no  need  to  go  into  it,"  he 
said,  looking  round  once  more.  "  The  time 
wi'  Compeyson  was  a'most  as  hard  a  time  as 
ever  I  had  ,•  that  said,  all's  said.  Did  I  tell 
you  as  I  was  tried,  alone,  for  misdemeanour, 
while  with  Compeyson  ?" 

I  answered.  No. 

"Well!"  he  said,  "I  was^  and  got  con- 
victed. As  to  took  up  on  suspicion,  that  was , 
twice  or  three  times  in  the  four  or  five  year 
that  it  lasted ;  but  evidence  was  wanting.  At 
last,  me  and  Compeyson  was  both  committed 
for  felony — on  a  charge  of  putting  stolen 
E  2 


52  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

notes  in  circulation — and  there  was  other 
charges  behind.  Compeyson  says  to  me, 
'  Separate  defences,  no  communication,'  and 
that  was  all.  And  I  was  so  miserable  poor, 
that  I  sold  all  the  clothes  I  had,  except  what 
hung  on  my  back;  afore  I  could  get  Jaggers. 
"  When  we  was  put  in  the  dock,  I  noticed 
first  of  all  what  a  gentleman  Compeyson 
looked,  wi'  his  curly  hair  and  his  black 
clothes  and  his  white  pocket-handkercher, 
and  what  a  common  sort  of  wretch  I  looked. 
When  the  prosecution  opened  and  the  evi- 
dence was  put  short,  aforehand,  I  noticed 
how  heavy  it  all  bore  on  me,  and  how  light 
on  him.  When  the  evidence  was  giv  in  the 
box,  I  noticed  how  it  was  always  me  that 
had  come  for'ard,  and  could  be  swore  to, 
how  it  was  always  me  that  the  money  had 
been  paid  to,  how  it  was  always  me  that 
had  seemed  to  work  the  thing  and  get  the 
profit.  But,  when  the  defence  come  on, 
then  I  see  the  plan  plainer;  for,  says  the 
counsellor  for  Compeyson,  '  My  lord  and 
gentlemen,  here  you  has  afore  you,  side  by 
side,  two  persons  as  your  eyes  can  separate 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  53 

wide ;  one,  the  younger,  well  brought  up, 
who  will  be  spoke  to  as  such  ;  one,  the 
elder,  ill  brought  up,  who  wall  be  spoke  to 
as  such ;  one,  the  younger,  seldom  if  ever 
seen  in  these  here  transactions,  and  only 
suspected ;  t'other,  the  elder,  always  seen  in 
'em  and  always  wi'  his  guilt  brought  home. 
Can  you  doubt,  if  there  is  but  one  in  it, 
which  is  the  one,  and,  if  there  is  two  in  it, 
which  is  much  the  w^orst  one?'  And  such- 
like. And  when  it  come  to  character,  wani't 
it  Compeyson  as  had  been  to  the  school,  and 
warn't  it  his  schoolfellows  as  was  in  this  po- 
sition and  in  that,  and  w^arn't  it  him  as  had 
been  know'd  by  witnesses  in  such  clubs  and 
societies,  and  nowt  to  his  disadvantage? 
And  warn't  it  me  as  had  been  tried  afore, 
and  as  had  been  know^'d  up  hill  and  down 
dale  in  Bridewells  and  Lock-Ups?  And 
when  it  come  to  speech-making,  w^arn't  it 
Compeyson  as  could  speak  to  'em  w4'  his 
face  dropping  every  now^  and  then  into  his 
white  pocket-handkercher — ah  !  and  wi' 
verses  in  his  speech,  too — and  warn't  it  me 
as  could  only  say,  '  Gentlemen,  this  man  at 


54  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

my  side  is  a  most  precious  rascal'?  And 
when  the  verdict  come,  warn't  it  Compeyson 
as  was  recommended  to  mercy  on  account 
of  good  character  and  bad  company,  and 
giving  up  all  the  information  lie  could  agen 
me,  and  warn't  it  me  as  got  never  a  word 
but  Guilty?  And  when  I  says  to  Compey- 
son, '  Once  out  of  this  court,  I'll  smash  that 
face  o'  yourn  ?'  ain't  it  Compeyson  as  prays 
the  Judge  to  be  protected,  and  gets  two 
turnkeys  stood  betwixt  us?  And  when 
Ave're  sentenced,  ain't  it  him  as  gets  seven 
year,  and  me  fourteen,  and  ain't  it  him  as 
the  Judge  is  sorry  for,  because  he  might  a 
done  so  well,  and  ain't  it  me  as  the  Judge 
perceives  to  be  a  old  offender  of  wiolent 
passion,  likely  to  come  to  worse  ?" 

He  had  Avorked  himself  into  a  state  of 
great  excitement,  but  he  checked  it,  took 
two  or  three  short  breaths,  swallowed  as 
often,  and  stretching  out  his  hand  towards 
me  said,  in  a  reassuring  manner,  "I  ain't  a 
going  to  be  low,  dear  boy !" 

He  had  so  heated  himself  that  he  took 
out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  face  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  55 

head  and  neck  and  hands,  before  he  could 
go  on. 

"  I  had  said  to  Compeyson  that  I'd  smash 
that  face  of  his,  and  I  swore  Lord  smash 
mine !  to  do  it.  We  was  in  the  same  prison- 
ship,  but  I  coukhi't  get  at  him  for  long, 
though  I  tried.  At  last  I  come  behind  him 
and  hit  him  on  the  cheek  to  turn  him  round 
and  get  a  smashing  one  at  him,  when  I  was 
seen  and  seized.  The  black-hole  of  that 
ship  warn't  a  strong  one,  to  a  judge  of  black- 
holes  that  could  swim  and  dive.  I  escaped 
to  the  shore,  and  I  was  a  hiding  among  the 
graves  there,  envying  them  as  was  in  'em 
and  all  over,  Avhen  I  first  see  my  boy !" 

He  regarded  me  with  a  look  of  affection 
that  made  him  almost  abhorrent  to  me  aofain, 
though  I  had  felt  great  pity  for  him. 

"  By  my  boy,  I  was  giv  to  understand  as 
Compeyson  was  out  on  them  marshes  too. 
Upon  my  soul,  I  half  believe  he  escaped  in 
his  terror,  to  get  quit  of  me,  not  knowing  it 
was  me  as  had  got  ashore.  I  hunted  him 
down.  I  smashed  his  f\ice.  'And  now,' 
sa,js  I,  '  as  the  worst  thing  I  can  do,  caring 


5G  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

nothing  for  myself,  I'll  drag  you  back.' 
And  I'd  have  s^\aim  off,  towing  him  by  the 
hair,  if  it  had  come  to  that,  and  I'd  a  got 
him  aboard  without  the  soldiers. 

"  Of  course  he'd  much  the  best  of  it  to  the 
last — his  character  was  so  good.  He  had 
escaped  when  he  was  made  half  wild  by  me 
and  my  murderous  intentions ;  and  his  pun- 
ishment was  light.  I  was  put  in  irons, 
brought  to  trial  again,  and  sent  for  life.  I 
didn't  stop  for  life,  dear  boy  and  Pip's 
comrade,  being  here." 

He  Aviped  himself  again,  as  he  had  done 
before,  and  then  slowly  took  his  tangle  of 
tobacco  from  his  pocket,  and  plucked  his 
pipe  from  his  button-hole,  and  slowly  filled 
it,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  I  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"  Is  who  dead,  dear  boy  ?" 

"  Compeyson." 

"  He  hopes  /  am,  if  he's  alive,  you  may 
be  sure,"  with  a  fierce  look.  "  I  never  heerd 
no  more  of  him." 

Herbert  had  been  writing  with  his  pencil 
in  the  cover  of  a  book.     He  softly  pushed 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  57 

the  book  over  to  me,  as  Provis  stood  smok- 
ing with  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  I  read  in  it : 

"  Youno;  Havisham's  name  was  Arthur.  Com- 
peyson  is  the  man  who  professed  to  be  Miss  Havi- 
sham's lover." 

I  shut  the  book  and  nodded  slightly  to 
Herbert,  and  put  the  book  by ;  but  we 
neither  of  us  said  anything,  and  both  looked 
at  Provis  as  he  stood  smoking  by  the  fire. 


58  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Why  should  I  pause  to  ask  how  much  of 
my  shrinkmg  from  Provis  might  be  traced 
to  Estella?  Why  should  I  loiter  on  my 
road,  to  compare  the  state  of  mind  in  Avhich 
I  had  tried  to  rid  myself  of  the  stain  of  the 
prison  before  meeting  her  at  the  coach-office, 
with  the  state  of  mind  in  which  I  now  re- 
flected on  the  abyss  between  Estella  in  her 
pride  and  beauty,  and  the  returned  trans- 
port whom  1  harboured  ?  The  road  would 
be  none  the  smoother  for  it,  the  end  would 
be  none  the  better  for  it,  he  would  not  be 
helped,  nor  I  extenuated. 

A  new  fear  had  been  engendered  in  my 
mind  by  his  narrative ;  or  rather,  his  narra- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  59 

tive  had  given  form  and  purpose  to  the  fear 
that  was  abeady  there.  If  Compeyson  were 
ahve  and  should  discover  his  return,  I  could 
hardly  doubt  the  consequence.  That,  Com- 
peyson stood  in  mortal  fear  of  him,  neither 
of  the  two  could  know  much  better  than 
I ;  and  that,  any  such  man  as  that  man  had 
been  described  to  be,  would  hesitate  to  re- 
lease himself  for  good  from  a  di'eaded  enemy 
by  the  safe  means  of  becoming  an  informer, 
was  scarcely  to  be  imagined. 

Never  had  I  breathed,  and  never  would  I 
breathe — or  so  I  resolved — a  word  of  Estella 
to  Provis.  But,  I  said  to  Herbert  that 
before  I  could  go  abroad,  I  must  see  both 
Estella  and  Miss  Havisham.  This  was 
when  we  were  left  alone  on  the  night  of  the 
day  when  Provis  told  us  his  story.  I  re- 
solved to  go  out  to  Richmond  next  day,  and 
I  went. 

On  m}^  presenting  myself  at  Mrs.  Brand- 
ley's,  Estella's  maid  was  called  to  tell  me 
that  Estella  had  gone  into  the  country. 
Where?  To  Satis  House,  as  usual.  Not 
as  usual,  I  said,  for  she  had  never  yet  gone 
there  without  me ;    when  was  she  coming 


GO  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

back  ?  There  avus  an  air  of  reservation  in 
the  answer  which  increased  my  perplexity, 
and  the  answer  was,  that  her  maid  believed 
she  was  only  coming  back  at  all  for  a  little 
while.  I  could  make  nothing  of  this,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  meant  that  I  should  make 
nothing  of  it,  and  I  went  home  again  in 
complete  discomfiture. 

Another  night-consultation  with  Herbert 
after  Provis  was  gone  home  (I  always  took 
him  home,  and  ahvays  looked  well  about 
me),  led  us  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing 
should  be  said  about  Cfoino-  abroad  until  I 
came  back  from  Miss  Havisham's.  In  the 
mean  time,  Herbert  and  I  were  to  consider 
separately  what  it  would  be  best  to  say; 
whether  we  should  devise  any  pretence  of 
being  afraid  that  he  was  under  suspicious 
observation ;  or  whether  I,  Avho  had  never 
yet  been  abroad,  should  propose  an  expedi- 
tion. We  both  kncAv  that  I  had  but  to  pro- 
pose anything,  and  he  would  consent.  We 
agreed  that  his  remaining  many  days  in  his 
present  hazard  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

Next  day,  I  had  the  meanness  to  feign 
that  I  was  under  a  binding  promise  to  go 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  61 

doAvn  to  Joe;  but  I  was  capable  of  abnost 
any  meanness  toAvards  Joe  or  bis  name. 
Provis  was  to  be  strictly  careful  while  I  Avas 
gone,  and  Herbert  was  to  take  the  charge 
of  him  that  I  had  taken.  I  was  to  be  ab- 
sent only  one  night,  and,  on  my  return,  the 
gratification  of  his  impatience  for  my  start- 
ing as  a  gentleman  on  a  greater  scale,  was 
to  be  begun.  It  occurred  to  me  then,  and 
as  I  afterwards  found  to  Herbert  also,  that 
he  might  be  best  got  away  across  the  Avater, 
on  that  pretence — as,  to  make  purchases,  or 
the  like. 

Having  thus  cleared  the  Avay  for  my  ex- 
pedition to  Miss  Havisham's,  I  set  off  by  the 
early  morning  coach  before  it  was  yet  light, 
and  was  out  on  the  open  country-road 
when  the  day  came  creeping  on,  halting  and 
whimpering  and  shivering,  and  wrapped  in 
patches  of  cloud  and  rags  of  mist,  like  a 
beggar.  When  Ave  drove  up  to  the  Blue 
Boar  after  a  drizzly  ride,  AA^hom  should  I  see 
come  out  under  the  gateway,  toothpick  in 
hand,  to  look  at  the  coach,  but  Bentley 
Drummle ! 

As  he  pretended  not  to  see  me,  I  pre- 


Q2  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tended  not  to  see  him.  It  was  a  very  lame 
pretence  on  both  sides ;  the  lamer,  because 
we  both  went  into  the  coffee-room,  where 
he  had  just  finished  his  breakfast,  and  where 
I  ordered  mine.  It  was  poisonous  to  me  to 
see  him  in  the  town,  for  I  very  well  knew 
why  he  had  come  there. 

Pretending  to  read  a  smeary  newspaper 
long  out  of  date,  which  had  nothing  half  so 
legible  in  its  local  news,  as  the  foreign 
matter  of  coffee,  pickles,  fish  sauces,  gravy, 
melted  butter,  and  wine,  with  which  it  was 
sprinkled  all  over,  as  if  it  had  taken  the 
measles  in  a  highly  irregular  form,  I  sat  at 
my  table  while  he  stood  before  the  fire.  By 
degrees  it  became  an  enormous  injury  to 
me  that  he  stood  before  the  fire,  and  I  got 
up,  determined  to  have  my  share  of  it.  I 
had  to  put  my  hand  behind  his  legs  for  the 
poker  when  I  went  up  to  the  fireplace  to 
stir  the  fire,  but  still  pretended  not  to  know 
him, 

"  Is  this  a  cut?"  said  Mr.  Drummle. 

"  Oh  !"  said  I,  poker  in  hand  ;  "  it's  you, 
is  it?  How  do  you  do?  I  was  wondering 
who  it  was,  who  kept  the  fire  off," 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  63 

"With  that,  I  poked  tremendously,  and 
having  done  so,  planted  myself  side  by  side 
with  Mr.  Drummle,  my  shoulders  squared 
and  my  back  to  the  fire. 

"You  have  just  come  down?"  said  Mr. 
Drummle,  edging  me  a  little  away  with  his 
shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  edging  him  a  little  away 
with  my  shoulder, 

"  Beastly  place,"  said  Drummle. — "Your 
part  of  the  country,  I  think?" 

"  Yes,"  I  assented.  "  I  am  told  it's  very 
like  your  Shropshire." 

"  N^ot  in  the  least  like  it,"  said  Drummle. 

Here  ]\Ir.  Drummle  looked  at  his  boots, 
and  I  looked  at  mine,  and  then  Mr.  Drum- 
mle look  at  my  boots,  and  I  looked  at  his. 

"Have  you  been  here  long?"  I  asked, 
determined  not  to  yield  an  inch  of  the 
fire. 

"  Lono-  enousrh  to  be  tired  of  it,"  returned 
Drummle,  pretending  to  ya^vn,  but  equally 
determined. 

"  Do  you  stay  here  long?" 

"  Can't  say,"  answered  Mr.  Drummle. 
"Do  you?" 


64  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Can't  say,"  said  I. 

I  felt  here,  through  a  tingling  in  my 
blood,  that  if  Mr.  Drummle's  shoulder  liad 
claimed  another  hair's  breadth  of  room,  I 
should  have  jerked  him  into  the  window ; 
equally,  that  if  my  own  shoulder  had  urged 
a  similar  claim,  Mr.  Drummle  would  have 
jerked  me  into  the  nearest  box.  He  whistled 
a  little.     So  did  I. 

"  Large  tract  of  marshes  about  here,  I 
believe?"  said  Drummle. 

"  Yes.     What  of  that  ?"  said  I. 

Mr.  Drummle  looked  at  me,  and  then 
at  my  boots,  and  then  said,  "  Oh !"  and 
laughed, 

"  Are  you  amused,  Mr.  Drummle?" 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  not  particularly.  I  am 
going  out  for  a  ride  in  the  saddle.  I  mean 
to  explore  those  marshes  for  amusement. 
Out-of-the-way  villages  there,  they  tell  me. 
Curious  little  public-houses — and  smithies — 
and  that.     Waiter !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Is  that  horse  of  mine  ready  ?" 

"  Brought  round  to  the  door,  sir." 

"  I  say.     Look  here,  you  sir.     The  lady 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  65 

won't    ride    to  -  day  ;     the    weather   won't 
do." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  And  I  don't  dine,  because  I'm  going  to 
dine  at  the  lady's." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

Then,  Drummle  glanced  at  me,  with  an 
insolent  triumph  on  his  great-jowled  face 
that  cut  me  to  the  heart,  dull  as  he  was, 
and  so  exasperated  me,  that  I  felt  inclined 
to  take  him  in  my  arms  (as  the  robber  in  the 
story-book  is  said  to  have  taken  the  old 
lady),  and  seat  him  on  the  fire. 

One  thing  was  manifest  to  both  of  us,  and 
that  was,  that  until  relief  came,  neither  of 
us  could  relinquish  the  fire.  There  we 
stood,  well  squared  up  before  it,  shoulder 
to  shoulder  and  foot  to  foot,  with  our 
hands  behind  us,  not  budging  an  inch.  The 
horse  was  visible  outside  in  the  drizzle  at 
the  door,  my  breakfast  was  put  on  table, 
Drummle's  was  cleared  awa}^,  the  waiter  in- 
vited me  to  begin,  I  nodded,  we  both  stood 
our  ground. 

"  Have  you  been  to  the  Grove  since  ?" 
said  Drummle. 

VOL.  III.  F 


66  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"No,"  said  I,  "  I  liad  quite  enough  of  the 
Finches  the  last  time  I  was  there." 

"  Was  that  "when  we  had  a  difference  of 
opinion  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  very  shortly. 

"Come,  come!  They  let  you  off  easily 
enough,"  sneered  Drummle.  "You  shouldn't 
have  lost  your  temper." 

"Mr.  Brummie,"  said  I,  "you  are  not 
competent  to  give  advice  on  that  subject. 
When  I  lose  my  temper  (not  that  I  admit 
having  done  so  on  that  occasion),  I  don't 
throw  glasses." 

"I  do,"  said  Drummle. 

After  glancing  at  him  once  or  twice,  in 
an  increased  state  of  smouldering  ferocity,  I 
said  : 

"Mr.  Drmnmle,  I  did  not  seek  this  con- 
versation, and  I  don't  think  it  an  agreeable 
one. 

"I  am  sure  it's  not,"  said  he,  supercili- 
ously over  his  shoulder ;  "I  don't  think  any- 
thing about  it.'' 

"And  therefore,"  I  went  on,  "with  your 
leave,  I  will  suggest  that  we  hold  no  kind  of 
communication  in  future." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  67 

"Quite  my  opinion,"  said  Drummle,  "and 
what  I  should  have  suggested  myself,  or 
done — more  Hkely  — without  suggesting. 
But  don't  lose  your  temper.  Haven't  you 
lost  enough  "udthout  that  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"  Wai-ter !"  said  Drummle,  by  way  of 
answering  me. 

The  waiter  reappeared. 

"Look  here,  you  sir.  You  quite  under- 
stand that  the  young  lady  don't  ride  to-day, 
and  that  I  dine  at  the  young  lady's  ?" 

"  Quite  so,  sir." 

When  the  waiter  had  felt  my  fast-cooling 
tea-pot  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  had 
looked  imploringly  at  me,  and  had  gone  out, 
Drummle,  careful  not  to  move  the  shoulder 
next  me,  took  a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and 
bit  the  end  off,  but  showed  no  sign  of  stir- 
ring. Choking  and  boiling  as  I  was,  I  felt 
that  we  could  not  go  a  word  further,  with- 
out introducing  Estella's  name,  which  I 
could  not  endure  to  hear  him  utter ;  and 
therefore  I  looked  stonily  at  the  opposite 
wall,  as  if  there  were  no  one  present,  and 
forced  myself  to  silence.  How  long  we 
f2 


G8  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

might  have  remained  in  this  ridiculous  posi- 
tion it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  for  the  in- 
cursion of  three  thriving  farmers — laid  on 
by  the  waiter,  I  think — who  came  into  the 
coffee-room  unbuttoning  their  great-coats 
and  rubbing  their  hands,  and  before  whom, 
as  they  charged  at  the  fire,  we  were  obliged 
to  give  w^ay. 

I  saw  him  through  the  window,  seizing 
his  horse's  mane,  and  mounting  in  his  blun- 
dering brutal  manner,  and  sidling  and  back- 
ing away.  I  thought  he  was  gone,  when  he 
came  back,  calling  for  a  light  for  the  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  which  he  had  forgotten.  A 
man  in  a  dust-coloured  dress  appeared  with 
what  w^as  wanted — I  could  not  have  said 
from  where  :  whether  from  the  inn  yard,  or 
the  street,  or  where  not — and  as  Drummle 
leaned  down  from  the  saddle  and  lighted 
his  cigar  and  laughed,  with  a  jerk  of  his 
head  towards  the  coffee-room  windows,  the 
slouching  shoulders  and  ragged  hair  of  this 
man,  Avhose  back  was  towards  me,  reminded 
me  of  Orlick. 

"Too  heavily  out  of  sorts  to  care  much 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  69 

at  the  time  whether  it  were  he  or  no,  or 
after  all  to  touch  the  breakfast,  I  washed 
the  weather  and  the  journey  from  my  face 
and  hands,  and  went  out  to  the  memorable 
old  house  that  it  would  have  been  so  much 
the  better  for  me  never  to  have  entered, 
never  to  have  seen. 


70  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

In  tlie  room  where  the  dressing-table 
stood,  and  where  the  wax  candles  burnt  on 
the  wall,  I  found  Miss  Havisham  and  Es- 
tella;  Miss  Havisham  seated  on  a  settee 
near  the  fire,  and  Estella  on  a  cushion  at 
her  feet.  Estella  was  knitting,  and  Miss 
Havisham  was  looking  on.  They  both 
raised  their  eyes  as  I  went  in,  and  both  saw 
an  alteration  in  me.  I  derived  that,  from 
the  look  they  interchanged. 

"  And  what  wind,"  said  Miss  Havisham, 
"blows  you  here,  Pip?" 

Though  she  looked  steadily  at  me,  I  saw 
that  she  was  rather  confused.  Estella, 
pausing  for  a  moment  in  her  knitting  with 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  71 

her  eyes  upon  me,  and  then  going  on,  I 
fancied  that  I  read  in  the  action  of  her 
fingers,  as  plainly  as  if  she  had  told  me  in 
the  dumb  alphabet,  that  she  perceived  I  had 
discovered  my  real  benefactor, 

"  Miss  Havisham,"  said  I,  "  I  went  to 
•Richmond  yesterday,  to  speak  to  Estella ; 
and  finding  that  some  mnd  had  blown  her 
here.  I  followed." 

Miss  Ha'vdsham  motioning  to  me  for  the 
third  or  fourth  time  to  sit  down,  I  took  the 
chair  by  the  dressing-table,  which  I  had 
often  seen  her  occupy.  With  all  that  ruin 
at  my  feet  and  about  me,  it  seemed  a 
natural  place  for  me,  that  day. 

"  What  I  had  to  say  to  Estella,  Miss  Ha- 
vishan,  I  will  say  before  you,  presently — in 
a  few  moments.  It  will  not  surprise  you, 
it  ^tU  not  displease  you.  I  am  as  unhappy 
as  you  can  ever  have  meant  me  to  be." 

Miss  Havisham  continued  to  look  steadily 
at  me.  I  could  see  in  the  action  of  Estella's 
fingers  as  they  worked,  that  she  attended  to 
what  I  said :  but  she  did  not  look  up. 

"  I  have  found  out  who  my  patron  is.  It 
is  not  a  fortunate  discovery,  and  is  not  likely 


72  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ever  to  enrich  me  in  reputation,  station, 
fortune,  anything.  There  are  reasons  why 
I  must  say  no  more  of  that.  It  is  not  my 
secret,  but  another's." 

As  I  Avas  silent  for  a  while,  looking  at 
Estella  and  considering  how  to  go  on.  Miss 
Havisham  repeated,  "  It  is  not  your  secret, 
but  another's.     WeU?" 

"  When  you  first  caused  me  to  be  brought 
here,  Miss  Havisham ;  when  I  belonged  to 
the  village  over  yonder,  that  I  Avish  I  had 
never  left ;  I  suppose  I  did  really  come  here, 
as  any  other  chance  boy  might  have  come 
— as  a  kind  of  servant,  to  gratify  a  Avant  or 
a  Avhim,  and  to  be  paid  for  it?" 

"  Ay,  Pip,"  replied  Miss  Havisham,  stea- 
dily nodding  her  head ;   "  you  did." 

"  And  that  Mr.  Jaggers " 

"  Mr.  Jaggers,"  said  Miss  Havisham, 
taking  me  up  in  a  firm  tone,  "  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  and  knew  nothing  of  it.  His 
being  my  laAvyer,  and  his  being  the  lawyer 
of  your  patron,  is  a  coincidence.  He  holds 
the  same  relation  towards  numbers  of 
people,  and  it  might  easily  arise.     Be  that 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  73 

as  it  may,  it  did  arise,  and  was  not  brouglit 
about  by  any  one." 

Any  one  might  have  seen  in  her  haggard 
face  that  there  was  no  suppression  or  eva- 
sion so  far. 

"  But  when  I  fell  into  the  mistake  I  have 
so  long  remained  in,  at  least  you  led  me 
on  ?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  she  returned,  again  nodding  stea- 
dily, "  I  let  you  go  on." 

"Was  that  kind?" 

"  Who  am  I,"  cried  Miss  Havisham, 
striking  her  stick  upon  the  floor  and  llash- 
into  wi'atli  so  suddenly  that  Estella  glanced 
up  at  her  in  surprise,  "  who  am  I,  for  God's 
sake,  that  I  should  be  kind !" 

It  was  a  weak  complaint  to  have  made, 
and  I  had  not  meant  to  make  it.  I  told 
her  so,  as  she  sat  brooding  after  this  out- 
burst. 

"Well,  Avell,  well!"  she  said.  "What 
else?" 

"  I  was  liberally  paid  for  my  old  attend- 
ance here,"  I  said,  to  soothe  her,  "  in  being 
apprenticed,  and  I  have  asked  these  ques- 


74  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tioiis  only  for  my  own  information.  What 
follows  has  another  (and  I  hope  more  disin- 
terested) purpose.  In  humouring  my  mis- 
take, Mis.s  Havisham,  3  ou  punished — prac- 
tised on — perliaps  you  will  supply  what- 
ever term  expresses  your  intention,  without 
offence — ^j^our  self-seeking  relations  ?" 

"  I  did.  Why,  they  would  have  it  so ! 
So  would  you.  What  has  been  my  history, 
that  I  should  be  at  the  pains  of  entreat- 
ing either  them,  or  you,  not  to  have  it  so  ! 
You  made  your  own  snares,  /  never  made 
them." 

Waiting  until  she  was  quiet  again — for 
this,  too,  flashed  out  of  her  in  a  wild  and 
sudden  way — I  went  on. 

"  I  have  been  thrown  among  one  family 
of  your  relations.  Miss  Havisham,  and  have 
been  constantly  among  them  since  I  Avent 
to  London.  I  know  them  to  have  been  as 
honestly  under  my  delusion  as  I  myself.  And 
T  should  be  false  and  base  if  I  did  not  tell 
you,  whether  it  is  acceptable  to  you  or  no, 
and  whether  vou  are  inclined  to  ffive  ere- 
dence  to  it  or  no,  that  you  deeply  wTong 
both  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  and  his  son  Her- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  75 

bert,  if  you  suppose  tliem  to  be  otherwise 
than  generous,  upright,  open,  and  incapable 
of  anything  designing  or  mean." 

"  They  are  your  friends,"  said  Miss  Ha- 
visham. 

"  They  made  themselves  my  friends,"  said 
I,  "when  they  supposed  me  to  have  super- 
seded them ;  and  Avhen  Sarah  Pocket,  Miss 
Georgiana,  and  Mistress  Camilla,  were  not 
my  friends,  I  think." 

This  contrasting  of  them  with  the  rest 
seemed,  I  was  glad  to  see,  to  do  them  good 
with  her.  She  looked  at  me  keenly  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  said  quietly : 

"  What  do  you  want  for  them  ?" 

"  Only,"  said  I,  "  that  you  would  not 
confound  them  with  the  others.  They  may 
be  of  the  same  blood,  but,  believe  me,  the}' 
are  not  of  the  same  nature." 

Still  looking  at  me  keenly.  Miss  Havisham 
repeated : 

"  What  do  you  want  for  them?" 

"  I  am  not  so  cunning,  you  see,"  I  said, 
in  answer,  conscious  that  I  reddened  a  little, 
"as  that  I  could  hide  from  you,  even  if  I 
desired,  that  I  do  want  something.     Miss 


76  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Havisham,  if  you  would  spare  the  money  to 
do  my  friend  Herbert  a  lasting  service  in 
life,  but  whicli  from  the  nature  of  the  case 
must  be  done  without  his  knowledge,  I  could 
show  you  how." 

"  Why  must  it  be  done  without  his  know- 
ledge?" she  asked,  settling  her  hands  upon 
her  stick,  that  she  might  regard  me  the 
more  attentively. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  I  began  the  service 
myself,  more  than  two  years  ago,  without 
his  knowledge,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  be- 
trayed. Why  I  fail  in  my  ability  to  finish 
it,  I  cannot  explain.  It  is  a  part  of  the 
secret  which  is  another  person's  and  not 
mine." 

She  gradually  withdrew  her  eyes  from 
me,  and  turned  them  on  the  fire.  After 
watching  it  for  what  appeared  in  the  silence 
and  by  the  light  of  the  slowly  wasting  can- 
dles to  be  a  long  time,  she  was  roused  by 
the  collapse  of  some  of  the  red  coals,  and 
looked  towards  me  again — at  first,  vacantly 
— then,  with  a  gradually  concentrating  at- 
tention. All  this  time,  Estella  knitted  on. 
When  Miss  Havisham  had  fixed  her  atten- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  77 

tion  on  me,  she  said,  speaking  as  if  there 
had  been  no  lapse  in  our  dialogue : 

"What  else?" 

"  Estella,"  said  I,  turning  to  her  now, 
and  trying  to  command  my  trembling  voice, 
"  you  know  I  love  you.  You  know  that  I 
have  loved  you  long  and  dearly." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  my  face,  on  being 
thus  addressed,  and  her  fingers  plied  their 
work,  and  she  looked  at  me  with  an  un- 
moved countenance.  I  saw  that  Miss  Ha- 
versham  glanced  from  me  to  her,  and  from 
her  to  me. 

"  I  should  have  said  this  sooner,  but  for 
my  long  mistake.  It  induced  me  to  hope 
that  Miss  Havisham  meant  us  for  one 
another.  While  I  thought  you  could  not 
help  yourself,  as  it  were,  I  refrained  from 
saying  it.     But  I  must  say  it  now." 

Preserving  her  unmoved  countenance, 
and  with  her  fingers  still  going,  Estella 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  know,"  said  I,  in  answer  to  that 
action ;  "I  know.  I  have  no  hope  that  I 
shall  ever  call  you  mine,  Estella.  I  am 
ignorant   what   may   become    of  me   very 


78  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

soon,  how  poor  I  may  be,  or  Avhere  I  may- 
go.  Still,  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you 
ever  since  I  first  saw  you  in  this  house." 

Looking  at  me  perfectly  unmoved  and 
with  her  fingers  busy,  she  shook  her  head 
again. 

"  It  would  have  been  cruel  in  Miss  Ha- 
visham,  horribly  cruel,  to  practise  on  the 
susceptibility  of  a  poor  boy,  and  to  torture 
me  through  all  these  years  with  a  vain  hope 
and  an  idle  pursuit,  if  she  had  reflected  on 
the  gravity  of  what  she  did.  But  I  think 
she  did  not.  I  think  that  in  the  endu- 
rance of  her  own  trial,  she  forgot  mine,  Es- 
teUa." 

I  saw  Miss  Havisham  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart  and  hold  it  there,  as  she  sat  looking 
by  turns  at  Estella  and  at  me. 

"  It  seems,"  said  EsteUa,  very  calmly, 
"  that  there  are  sentiments,  fancies — I  don't 
know  how  to  call  them — which  I  am  not 
able  to  comprehend.  When  you  say  you 
love  me,  I  know  what  you  mean,  as  a  form 
of  words ;  but  nothing  more.  You  address 
nothing  in  my  breast,  you  touch  nothing 
there.     I  don't  care  for  what  you  say  at  all. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  79 

I  have  tried  to  warn  you  of  this ;  now,  have 
I  not?" 

I  said  in  a  miserable  manner,  "  Yes." 

"  Yes.  But  you  would  not  be  warned, 
for  you  thought  I  did  not  mean  it.  Now, 
did  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"I  thought  and  hoped  you  could  not 
mean  it.  You,  so  young,  untried,  and  beau- 
tiful, Estella  !     Surely  it  is  not  in  Nature." 

"  It  is  in  mij  nature,"  she  returned.  And 
then  she  added,  with  a  stress  upon  the 
words,  "It  is  in  the  nature  formed  within 
me.  I  make  a  great  difference  between  you 
and  all  other  people  when  I  say  so  much.  I 
can  do  no  more." 

"Is  it  not  true,"  said  I,  "that  Bentley 
Drummle  is  in  to^vn  here,  and  pursuing 
you? 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  she  replied,  referring 
to  him  with  the  indiflference  of  utter  con- 
tempt. 

"That  you  encourage  him,  and  ride  out 
with  him,  and  that  he  dines  with  you  this 
very  day?" 

She  seemed  a  little  surprised  that  I  should 
know  it,  but  again  replied,  "  Quite  true." 


80  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  You  cannot  love  him,  Estclla  !" 
Her  fingers  stopped  for  the  first  time,  as 
she  retorted  rather  ansrily,   "  What  have  I 
told  you?    Do  you  still  think,  in  spite  of  it, 
that  I  do  not  mean  what  I  say  ?" 

"  You  would  never  marry  him,  Estella?" 
She  looked  towards  Miss  Havisham,  and 
considered  for  a  moment  ^^'ith  her  work  in 
her  hands.  Then  she  said,  "  Why  not  tell 
you  tlie  truth  ?  I  am  going  to  be  married 
to  him." 

I  dropped  my  face  into  my  hands,  but 
was  able  to  control  myself  better  than  I 
could  have  expected,  considering  what  agony 
it  gave  me  to  hear  her  say  those  words. 
When  I  raised  my  face  again,  there  was 
such  a  ghastly  look  upon  Miss  Havisham's, 
that  it  impressed  me,  even  in  my  passionate 
hurry  and  grief. 

"Estella,  dearest  dearest  Estella,  do  not 
let  Miss  Havisham  lead  you  into  this  fatal 
step.  Put  me  aside  for  ever — you  have 
done  so,  I  well  know — ^but  bestow  yourself 
on  some  worthier  person  than  Drummle. 
Miss  Havisham  gives  }"ou  to  him,  as  the 
greatest  slight  and  injury  that  could  be  done 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  81 

to  the  many  far  better  men  who  admire 
3'ou,  and  to  the  few  who  truly  love  you. 
Among  those  few,  there  may  be  one  who 
loves  you  even  as  dearly,  though  he  has  not 
loved  you  as  long,  as  I.  Take  him,  and  I 
can  bear  it  better,  for  your  sake  !" 

My  earnestness  awoke  a  wonder  in  her 
that  seemed  as  if  it  would  have  been  touched 
with  compassion,  if  she  could  have  rendered 
me  at  all  intelligible  to  her  own  mind. 

"  I  am  going,"  she  said  again,  in  a  gentler 
voice,  "to  be  married  to  him.  The  prepara- 
tions for  my  marriage  are  making,  and  I 
shall  be  married  soon.  Why  do  you  injuri- 
ously introduce  the  name  of  my  mother  by 
adoption?     It  is  my  own  act." 

"  Your  own  act,  Estella,  to  fling  j^ourself 
away  upon  a  brute?" 

"  On  whom  should  I  fling  myself  away?" 
she  retorted,  with  a  smile.  "  Should  I  fl,ing 
myself  away  upon  the  man  who  would  the 
soonest  feel  (if  people  do  feel  such  things) 
that  I  took  nothing  to  him  ?  There  !  It  is 
done.  I  shall  do  well  enough,  and  so  will 
my  husband.  As  to  leading  me  into  what 
you    call   this   fatal    step.    Miss    Havisham 

VOL.  III.  G 


82  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

would  have  had  me  wait,  and  not  marry 
yet ;  but  I  am  tired  of  the  life  I  have  led, 
which  has  very  few  charms  for  me,  and  I 
am  willing  enough  to  change  it.  Say  no 
more.  We  shall  never  understand  each 
other." 

"  Such  a  mean  brute,  such  a  stupid  brute!" 
I  urged  in  despair. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  my  being  a  blessing 
to  him,"  said  Estella  ;  "I  shall  not  be  that. 
Come  !  Here  is  my  hand.  Do  we  part  on 
this,  you  visionary  boy or  man  ?" 

"  0  Estella !"  I  answered,  as  my  bitter 
tears  fell  fast  on  her  hand,  do  what  I  would 
to  restrain  them;  "even  if  I  remained  in 
England  and  could  hold  my  head  up  with 
the  rest,  how  could  I  see  you  Drunmile's 
wife !" 

"Nonsense,"  she  returned,  "nonsense. 
This  will  pass  in  no  time." 

"Never,  Estella!" 

"  You  will  get  me  out  of  your  thoughts 
in  a  week." 

"  Out  of  my  thoughts !  You  are  part  of 
my  existence,  part  of  myself.  You  have 
been  in  every  line  I  have  ever  read,  since  I 
first   came  here,  the   roudi   common   boy 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  83 

whose  poor  heart  you  wounded  even  then. 
You  have  been  in  every  prospect  I  have 
ever  seen  since — on  the  river,  on  the  sails 
of  the  ships,  on  the  marshes,  in  the  clouds, 
in  the  light,  in  the  darkness,  in  the  wind,  in 
the  woods,  in  the  sea,  in  the  streets.  You 
have  been  the  embodiment  of  every  graceful 
fancy  that  my  mind  has  ever  become  ac- 
quainted with.  The  stones  of  which  the 
strongest  London  buildings  are  made,  are 
not  more  real,  or  more  impossible  to  be  dis- 
placed by  your  hands,  than  your  presence 
and  influence  have  been  to  me,  there  and 
everywhere,  and  will  be.  Estella,  to  the 
last  hour  of  my  life,  you  cannot  choose  but 
remain  part  of  my  character,  part  of  the 
little  good  in  me,  part  of  the  evil.  But,  in 
this  separation  I  associate  you  only  with  the 
good,  and  I  mil  faithfully  hold  you  to  that 
always,  for  you  must  have  done  me  fai- 
more  good  than  harm,  let  me  feel  now  what 
sharp  distress  I  may.  0  God  bless  joih 
God  forgive  you !" 

In  what  ecstasy  of  unhappiness  I  got  these 
broken  words  out  of  myself,  I  don't  know. 
The   rhapsody  welled   up  within    me,  like 
c  2 


84  GREAT  EXrFX'TATIOXS. 

blood  from  an  inward  wound,  and  gushed 
out.  I  held  her  hand  to  my  lips  some  lin- 
gering moments,  and  so  I  left  her.  But 
ever  afterwards,  I  remembered — and  soon 
afterwards  with  stronger  reason — that  while 
Estella  looked  at  me  merely  with  incredu- 
lous wonder,  the  spectral  figure  of  Miss  Ha- 
visham,  her  hand  still  covering  her  heart, 
seemed  all  resolved  into  a  ghastly  stare  of 
pity  and  remorse. 

All  done,  all  gone !  So  mucli  was  done 
and  gone,  that  when  I  went  out  at  the  gate, 
the  light  of  the  day  seemed  of  a  darker 
colour  than  when  I  went  in.  For  a  while, 
I  hid  myself  among  some  lanes  and  by- 
paths, and  then  struck  off  to  walk  all  the 
way  to  London.  For,  I  had  by  that  time 
come  to  myself  so  far,  as  to  consider  that 
I  could  not  go  back  to  the  inn  and  see 
Drummle  there ;  that  I  could  not  bear  to 
sit  upon  the  coach  and  be  spoken  to ;  that 
I  could  do  nothing  half  so  good  for  myself 
as  tire  myself  out. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  I  crossed  Lon- 
don Bridge.  Pursuing  the  narrow  intrica- 
cies of  the  streets  which  at  that  time  tended 
westward  near  the  Middlesex  shore  of  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  85 

river,  my  readiest  access  to  the  Temple  was 
close  by  the  river-side,  through  Whitefriars. 
I  was  not  expected  till  to-morrow,  but  I  had 
my  keys,  and,  if  Herbert  were  gone  to  bed, 
could  get  to  bed  myself  without  disturbing 
him. 

As  it  seldom  happened  that  I  came  in  at 
that  Whitefriars  gate  after  the  Temple  was 
closed,  and  as  I  was  very  muddy  and  weary, 
I  did  not  take  it  ill  that  the  night-porter 
examined  me  with  much  attention  as  he 
held  the  gate  a  little  way  open  for  me  to 
pass  in.  To  help  his  memory  I  mentioned 
my  name. 

"  I  was  not  quite  sure,  sir,  but  I  thought 
so.  Here's  a  note,  sir.  The  messenger  that 
brought  it,  said  would  you  be  so  good  as 
read  it  by  my  lantern." 

Much  surprised  by  the  request,  I  took 
the  note.  It  was  directed  to  Philip  Pip, 
Esquire,  and  on  the  top  of  the  superscrip- 
tion were  the  words,  "  Please  read  this, 
HERE."  I  opened  it,  the  watchman  holding 
up  his  light,  and  read  inside,  in  Wemmick's 
writing : 

"  Don't  go  home." 


86  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  VL 

Turning  from  the  Temple  gate  as  soon  as 
I  had  read  the  warning,  I  made  the  best  of 
my  way  to  Fleet-street,  and  there  got  a  late 
hackney  chariot  and  drove  to  the  Hummums 
in  Covent  Garden.  In  those  times  a  bed 
was  always  to  be  got  there  at  any  hour  of 
the  night,  and  the  chamberlain,  letting  me 
in  at  his  ready  wicket,  lighted  the  candle 
next  in  order  on  his  shelf,  and  showed  me 
straight  into  the  bedroom  next  in  order  on 
his  list.  It  was  a  sort  of  vault  on  the 
ground  floor  at  the  back,  Avith  a  despotic 
monster  of  a  four-post  bedstead  in  it,  strad- 
dling over  the  whole  place,  putting  one  of 
his  arbitrary  legs  into  the  fireplace  and  an- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  87 

other  into  the  doorway,  and  squeezing  the 
Avretched  httle  washing-stand  in  quite  a 
Divinely  Righteous  manner. 

As  I  had  asked  for-  a  night-hght,  the 
chamberlain  had  brought  me  in,  before  he 
left  me,  the  good  old  constitutional  rush- 
light of  those  virtuous  days — an  object  Hke 
the  ghost  of  a  walking-cane,  which  instantly 
broke  its  back  if  it  were  touched,  which  no- 
thing could  ever  be  hghted  at,  and  which 
was  placed  in  sohtary  confinement  at  the 
bottom  of  a  high  tin  tower,  perforated  with 
round  holes  that  made  a  staringly  ^vide- 
awake  pattern  on  the  walls.  When  I  had 
got  into  bed,  and  lay  there  footsore,  weary, 
and  wretched,  I  found  that  I  could  no  more 
close  my  own  eyes  than  I  could  close  the 
eyes  of  this  foolish  Argus.  And  thus,  in 
the  gloom  and  death  of  the  night,  we  stared 
at  one  another. 

What  a  doleful  night !  How  anxious, 
how  dismal,  how  long !  There  was  an  in- 
hospitable smell  in  the  room,  of  cold  soot 
and  hot  dust ;  and,  as  I  looked  up  into  the 
comers  of  the  tester  over  my  head,  I  thought 
what  a  number  of  bluebottle  flies  from  the 


88  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

butchers',  and  earwigs  from  the  market,  and 
grubs  from  the  country,  must  be  holding  on 
up  there,  lying  by  for  next  summer.  This 
led  me  to  speculate  whether  any  of  them 
ever  tumbled  down,  and  then  I  fancied  that 
I  felt  light  falls  on  my  face — a  disagreeable 
turn  of  thought,  suggesting  other  and  more 
objectionable  approaches  up  my  back.  When 
I  had  lain  awake  a  little  wdiile,  those  extra- 
ordinary voices  with  which  silence  teems, 
beo-an  to  make  themselves  audible.  The 
closet  whispered,  the  fireplace  sighed,  the 
little  washing-stand  ticked,  and  one  guitar- 
string  played  occasionally  in  the  chest  of 
drawers.  At  about  the  same  time,  the  eyes 
on  the  wall  acquired  a  new  expression,  and 
in  every  one  of  those  staring  rounds  I  saw 
written.  Don't  go  Home. 

Whatever  nig-ht-fancies  and  night-noises 
crowded  on  me,  they  never  warded  off  this 
Don't  go  home.  It  plaited  itself  into  what- 
ever I  thought  of,  as  a  bodily  pain  would 
have  done.  Not  long  before,  I  had  read  in 
the  newspapers,  how  a  gentleman  unknown 
had  come  to  the  Hummums  in  the  night, 
and  had  gone  to  bed,  and  had  destroyed 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  89 

himself,  and  had  been  found  in  the  morning 
weltering  in  blood.  It  came  into  my  head 
that  he  must  have  occupied  this  very  vault 
of  mine,  and  I  got  out  of  bed  to  assure  my- 
self that  there  were  no  red  marks  about ; 
then  opened  the  door  to  look  out  into  the 
passages,  and  cheer  myself  with  the  com- 
panionship of  a  distant  light,  near  which  I 
knew  the  chamberlain  to  be  dozing.  But 
all  this  time,  why  I  was  not  to  go  home,  and 
what  had  happened  at  home,  and  Avhen  I 
should  go  home,  and  whether  Provis  was 
safe  at  home,  were  questions  occupying  my 
mind  so  busily,  that  one  might  have  sup- 
posed there  could  be  no  more  room  in  it  for 
any  other  theme.  Even  when  I  thought  of 
Estella,  and  hoAv  we  had  parted  that  day  for 
ever,  and  when  I  recalled  all  the  circum- 
stances of  our  parting,  and  all  her  looks  and 
tones,  and  the  action  of  her  fingers  while 
she  knitted — even  then  I  was  pursuing,  here 
and  there  and  every^vhere,  the  caution  Don't 
go  home.  When  at  last  I  dozed,  in  sheer 
exhaustion  of  mind  and  body,  it  became  a 
vast  shadowy  verb  which  I  had  to  conju- 
gate.    Imperative  mood,  present  tense :  Do 


90  CJREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

not  thou  go  home,  let  him  not  go  home,  let 
us  not  go  home,  do  not  ye  or  you  go  home, 
let  not  them  go  home.  Then,  potentially  : 
I  may  not  and  I  cannot  go  home ;  and  I 
might  not,  could  not,  would  not,  and  should 
not  go  home ;  until  I  felt  that  I  was  going 
distracted,  and  rolled  over  on  the  pillow,  and 
looked  at  the  staring  rounds  upon  the  wall 
again. 

I  had  left  directions  that  I  was  to  be  called 
at  seven ;  for  it  was  plain  that  I  must  see 
Wemmick  before  seeing  any  one  else,  and 
equally  plain  that  this  was  a  case  in  which 
his  Walworth  sentiments,  only,  could  be 
taken.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  out  of  the 
room  where  the  night  had  been  so  miserable, 
and  I  needed  no  second  knocking  at  the 
door  to  startle  me  from  my  uneasy  bed. 

The  Castle  battlements  arose  upon  my 
view  at  eight  o'clock.  The  little  servant  hap- 
pening to  be  entering  the  fortress  with  two 
hot  rolls,  I  passed  through  the  postern  and 
crossed  the  drawbridge,  in  her  company, 
and  so  came  without  announcement  into  the 
presence  of  Wemmick  as  he  was  making  tea 
for  himself  and  the  Aged.     An  open  door 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  tl 

afforded  a  perspective  view  of  the  Aged  in 
bed. 

"  Halloa,  Mr.  Pip  !"  saidWemmick.  "You 
did  come  home,  then  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  returned;  "  but  I  didn't  go 
home." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  he,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  I  left  a  note  for  you  at  each  of 
the  Temple  gates,  on  the  chance.  Which 
gate  did  you  come  to  ?" 

I  told  him. 

"  I'U  go  round  to  the  others  in  the  course 
of  the  day  and  destroy  the  notes,"  said 
Wemmick;  "  it's  a  good  rule  never  to  leave 
documentary  evidence  if  you  can  help  it, 
because  you  don't  know  when  it  may  be  put 
in.  I'm  going  to  take  a  liberty  with  you. — 
Would  you  mind  toasting  this  sausage  for 
the  Aged  P.  ?" 

I  said  I  should  be  delighted  to  do  it. 

"  Then  you  can  go  about  your  work, 
Mary  Anne,"  said  Wemmick  to  the  little 
servant;  "which  leaves  us  to  ourselves, 
don't  you  see,  Mr.  Pip?"  he  added,  wink- 
ing, as  she  disappeared. 


92  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  thanked  him  for  his  friendship  and  cau- 
tion, and  our  discourse  proceeded  in  a  low 
tone,  while  I  toasted  the  Aged's  sausage  and 
he  buttered  the  crumb  of  the  Aged's  roll. 

"  Xow,  Mr.  Pip,  you  know,"  said  Wem- 
mick,  "  you  and  I  understand  one  another. 
We  are  in  our  private  and  personal  capaci- 
ties, and  we  have  been  engaged  in  a  con- 
fidential transaction  before  to-day.  Official 
sentiments  are  one  thing.  We  are  extra 
official."' 

I  cordially  assented.  I  was  so  very  nervous, 
that  I  had  already  lighted  the  Aged's  sausage 
like  a  torch,  and  been  obliged  to  blow  it  out. 

"  I  accidentally  heard,  yesterday  morn- 
ing," said  Wemmick,  "being  in  a  certain 
place  where  I  once  took  you — even  between 
you  and  me,  it's  as  well  not  to  mention 
names  when  avoidable " 

"  Much  better  not,"  said  I.  "  I  under- 
stand you." 

"  I  heard  there  by  chance,  yesterday  morn- 
ing," said  Wemmick,  "  that  a  certain  person 
not  altogether  of  uncolonial  pursuits,  and 
not    unpossessed   of    portable   property — I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  98 

don't  know  who  it  may  really  be — we  won't 
name  this  person " 

"  Not  necessary,"  said  I. 

"  — had  made  some  little  stir  in  a  certain 
part  of  the  world  where  a  good  many  people 
go,  not  always  in  gratification  of  their  own 
inclinations,  and  not  quite  irrespective  of 
the  government  expense " 

In  watching  his  face,  I  made  quite  a  fire- 
work of  the  Aged's  sausage,  and  greatly  dis- 
composed both  my  own  attention  and  AYem- 
mick's ;  for  which  I  apologised. 

"  — by  disappearing  from  such  place, 
and  being  no  more  heard  of  thereabouts. 
From  which,"  said  Wemmick,  "  conjectures 
had  been  raised  and  theories  formed.  I  also 
heard  that  you  at  your  chambers  in  Garden- 
court,  Temple,  had  been  Avatched,  and  might 
be  watched  again." 

"  By  whom?"  said  I. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  into  that,"  said  Wemmick, 
evasively,  "  it  might  clash  with  ofiicial  re- 
sponsibilities. I  heard  it,  as  I  have  in  my 
time  heard  other  curious  things  in  the  same 
place.  I  don't  tell  it  you  on  information  re- 
ceived.    I  heard  it." 


94  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

He  took  the  toastiiifjc-fork  and  sausajje 
from  me  as  he  spoke,  and  set  forth  the 
Aged's  breakfast  neatly  on  a  little  tray. 
Previous  to  placing  it  before  him,  he  went 
into  the  Ao-ed's  room  with  a  clean  white 
cloth,  and  tied  the  same  under  the  old  gen- 
tleman's chin,  and  propped  him  up,  and  put 
his  nightcap  on  one  side,  and  gave  him  quite 
a  rakish  air.  Then,  he  placed  his  breakfast 
before  him  with  great  care,  and  said,  "  All 
right,  ain't  you.  Aged  P.  ?"  To  which  the 
cheerful  Aged  replied,  "All  right,  John,  my 
boy,  all  right !"  As  there  seemed  to  be  a 
tacit  understanding  that  the  Aged  was  not 
in  a  presentable  state,  and  was  therefore  to 
be  considered  invisible,  I  made  a  pretence  of 
being  in  complete  ignorance  of  these  pro- 
ceedings. 

"  This  watching  of  me  at  my  chambers 
(which  I  have  once  had  reason  to  suspect)," 
I  said  to  "Wemmick  when  he  came  back,  "is 
inseparable  from  the  person  to  Avhom  you 
have  adverted  ;  is  it  ?" 

Wemmick  looked  very  serious.  "I  couldn't 
undertake  to  say  that,  of  my  own  knowledge. 
I  mean,  I  couldn't  undertake  to  say  it  was  at 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  95 

first.  But  it  either  is,  or  it  will  be,  or  it's 
in  great  danger  of  being." 

As  I  saw  tliat  lie  was  restrained  by  fealty 
to  Little  Britain  from  saying  as  much  as  he 
could,  and  as  I  knew  with  thankfulness  to 
him  how  far  out  of  his  way  he  went  to  say 
what  he  did,  I  could  not  press  him.  But  I 
told  him,  after  a  little  meditation  over  the 
fire,  that  I  would  like  to  ask  him  a  question, 
subject  to  his  answering  or  not  answering, 
as  he  deemed  right,  and  sure  that  his  course 
would  be  right.  He  paused  in  his  break- 
fast, and  crossing  his  arms,  and  pinching  his 
shirt-sleeves  (his  notion  of  in-door  comfort 
was  to  sit  without  any  coat),  he  nodded  to 
me  once,  to  put  my  question. 

"  You  have  heard  of  a  man  of  bad  charac- 
ter, whose  true  name  is  Compeyson?" 

He  answered  with  one  other  nod. 

"  Is  he  living?" 

One  other  nod. 

"Is  he  in  London?" 

He  gave  me  one  other  nod,  compressed 
the  post-ofRce  exceedingly,  gave  me  one 
last  nod,  and  went  on  with  his  breakfast. 

"Now,"    said    Wemmick,     "questioning 


96  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

being  over;"  Avhicli  he  emphasised  and  re- 
peated for  my  guidance ;  "I  come  to  what 
I  did,  after  hearing  what  I  heard.  I  went 
to  Garden-court  to  find  you  ;  not  finding 
you,  I  went  to  Clarriker  s  to  find  Mr.  Her- 
bert." 

"  And  him  you  found?"  said  I,  with  great 
anxiety. 

"  And  him  I  found.  Without  mentioning 
any  names  or  going  into  any  details,  I  gave 
him  to  understand  that  if  he  was  aware  of 
anybody — Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard — being 
about  the  chambers,  or  about  the  immediate 
neighbourhood,  he  had  better  get  Tom, 
Jack,  or  Richard,  out  of  the  way  while  you 
were  out  of  the  way." 

"He  would  be  greatly  puzzled  what  to 
do?" 

"  He  ivas  puzzled  what  to  do ;  not  the 
less,  because  I  gave  him  my  opinion  that  it 
was  not  safe  to  try  to  get  Tom,  Jack,  or 
Richard,  too  far  out  of  the  way  at  present. 
Mr.  Pip,  I'll  tell  you  something.  Under 
existing  circumstances  there  is  no  place  like 
a  great  city  Avhen  you  are  once  in  it.  Don't 
break  cover  too  soon.     Lie  close.    Wait  till 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  97 

things   slacken,    before  you  try  the  open, 
even  for  foreign  air." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  valuable  advice, 
and  asked  him  what  Herbert  had  done  ? 

"  Mr.  Herbert,"  said  Wemmick,  "  after 
being  all  of  a  heap  for  half  an  hour,  struck 
out  a  plan.  He  mentioned  to  me  as  a  se- 
cret, that  he  is  courting  a  young  lady  who 
has,  as  no  doubt  you  are  aware,  a  bedridden 
Pa.  Which  Pa,  having  been  in  the  Purser 
line  of  life,  lies  a-bed  in  a  bow-window  where 
he  can  see  the  ships  sail  up  and  down  the 
river.  You  are  acquainted  with  the  young 
lady,  most  probably  ?" 

"  Not  personally,"  said  I. 

The  truth  was,  that  she  had  objected  to 
me  as  an  expensive  companion  who  did 
Herbert  no  good,  and  that,  when  Herbert 
had  first  proposed  to  present  me  to  her,  she 
had  received  the  proposal  with  such  very 
moderate  warmth,  that  Herbert  had  felt 
himself  obliged  to  confide  the  state  of  the 
case  to  me,  with  a  view  to  the  lapse  of  a 
little  time  before  I  made  her  acquaintance. 
When  I  had  begun  to  advance  Herbert's 
prospects   by   stealth,   I  had  been  able  to 

VOL.  III.  H 


08  GREAT  EXTECTATIONS. 

bear  this  with  cheerful  philosophy ;  he  and 
his  affianced,  for  their  part,  had  naturally 
not  been  very  anxious  to  introduce  a  third 
person  into  their  interviews ;  and  thus,  al- 
though I  was  assured  that  I  had  risen  in 
Clara's  esteem,  and  although  the  young 
lady  and  I  had  long  regularly  interchanged 
messages  and  remembrances  by  Herbert,  I 
had  never  seen  her.  However,  I  did  not 
trouble  AYemmick  with  these  particulars. 

"  The  house  with  the  bow-mndow,"  said 
Wemmick,  "being  by  the  river-side,  do^vn 
the  Pool  there  between  Limehouse  and 
Greenwich,  and  being  kept,  it  seems,  by  a 
very  respectable  widow  who  has  a  furnished 
upper  floor  to  let,  Mr.  Herbert  put  it  to  me, 
what  did  I  think  of  that  as  a  temporary 
tenement  for  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard  ?  Now? 
I  thought  very  well  of  it,  for  three  reasons 
I'll  give  you.  That  is  to  say.  Firstly.  It's 
altogether  out  of  all  your  beats,  and  is  well 
away  from  the  usual  heap  of  streets  great 
and  small.  Secondly.  Without  going  near 
it  yourself,  you  could  always  hear  of  the 
safety  of  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard,  tlirough 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  99 

Mr.  Herbert.  Thirdly.  After  a  while  and 
when  it  might  be  prudent,  if  you  should 
want  to  slip  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard,  on 
board  a  foreign  packet-boat,  there  he  is 
— ready." 

Much  comforted  by  these  considerations, 
I  thanked  Wemmick  again  and  again,  and 
begged  him  to  proceed. 

"  Well,  sir !  Mr.  Herbert  threw  himself 
into  the  business  with  a  will,  and  by  nine 
o'clock  last  night  he  housed  Tom,  Jack,  or 
Richard — whichever  it  may  be — ^you  and  I 
don't  want  to  know — quite  successfully.  At 
the  old  lodo;ino-s  it  was  understood  that  he 
was  summoned  to  Dover,  and  in  fact  he 
was  taken  do^vn  the  Dover  road  and  cor- 
nered out  of  it.  Now,  another  great  advan- 
tage of  all  this,  is,  that  it  was  done  ^\dthout 
you,  and  when,  if  any  one  was  concerning 
himself  about  your  movements,  you  must 
be  known  to  be  ever  so  many  miles  off  and 
quite  otherwise  engaged.  This  diverts  sus- 
picion and  confuses  it;  and  for  the  same 
reason  I  recommended  that  even  if  you 
came  back  last  night,  you  should  not  go 
h2 


100  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

home.     It  brings  in  more  confusion,    and 
you  want  confusion." 

Wemmick,  having  finished  his  breakfast, 
here  looked  at  his  watch,  and  began  to  get 
his  coat  on. 

"  And  now,  Mr  Pip,"  said  he,  with  his 
hands  still  in  the  sleeves,  "  I  have  probably 
done  the  most  I  can  do  ;  but  if  I  can  ever 
do  more — from  a  Walworth  point  of  view, 
and  in  a  strictly  private  and  personal  capa- 
city— I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it.  Here's  the 
address.  There  can  be  no  hann  in  your 
going  here  to-night  and  seeing  for  yourself 
that  all  is  well  with  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard, 
before  you  go  home — wliich  is  another 
reason  for  your  not  going  home  last  night. 
But  after  you  have  gone  liome,  don't  go 
back  here.  You  are  very  welcome,  I  am 
sure,  Mr.  Pip ;"  his  hands  were  now  out  of 
his  sleeves,  and  I  was  shaking  them  ;  "  and 
let  me  finally  impress  one  important  point 
upon  you."  He  laid  his  hands  upon  my 
shoulders,  and  added  in  a  solemn  whisper  : 
"  Avail  yourself  of  this  evening  to  lay  hold 
of  his  portable  property.     You  don't  know 


GEE  AT  EXPECTATIONS.  101 

■what  may  happen  to  him.  Don't  let  any- 
thing happen  to  the  portable  property." 

Quite  despairing  of  making  my  mind 
clear  to  Wemmick  on  this  point,  I  forbore 
to  try. 

"  Time's  up,"  said  Wemmick,  "  and  I 
must  be  oiF.  If  you  had  nothing  more 
pressing  to  do  than  to  keep  here  tiU  dark, 
that's  what  I  should  advise.  You  look  very 
much  worried,  and  it  would  do  you  good  to 
have  a  perfectly  quiet  day  with  the  Aged — 

he'U  be  up  presently — and  a  little  bit  of 

you  remember  the  pig?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  I. 

"Well;  and  a  little  bit  of  Mm.  That 
sausage  you  toasted  was  his,  and  he  was  in 
all  respects  a  first-rater.  Do  try  him,  if  it  is 
only  for  old  acquaintance  sake.  Good-by, 
Aged  Parent !"  in  a  cheery  shout 

"All  right,  John;  all  right,  my  boy!" 
piped  the  old  man  from  within. 

I  soon  fell  asleep  before  Wemmick's  fire, 
and  the  Aged  and  I  enjoyed  one  another's 
society  by  falling  asleep  before  it  more  or 
less   all   day.     We    had   loin    of  pork   for 


102  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

dinner,  and  greens  grown  on  the  estate,  and 
I  nodded  at  the  Aged  with  a  good  inten- 
tion whenever  I  failed  to  do  it  drowsily. 
AVTien  it  was  quite  dark,  I  left  the  Aged 
preparing  the  fire  for  toast ;  and  I  inferred 
from  the  number  of  teacups,  as  well  as  from 
his  glances  at  the  two  little  doors  in  the 
wall,  that  Miss  Skiffins  was  expected. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  10 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Eight  o'clock  had  struck  before  I  got 
into  the  air  that  was  scented,  not  disa- 
greeably, by  the  chips  and  shavings  of  the 
long-shore  boat-builders,  and  mast  oar  and 
block  makers.  All  that  water-side  region  of 
the  upper  and  lower  Pool  below  Bridge, 
was  unknown  ground  to  me,  and  when  I 
struck  down  by  the  river,  I  found  that  the 
spot  I  wanted  was  not  where  I  had  sup- 
posed it  to  be,  and  was  anything  but  easy 
to  find.  It  was  called  MiU  Pond  Bank, 
Chinks's  Basin ;  and  I  had  no  other  guide 
to  Chinks's  Basin  than  the  Old  Green  Cop- 
per Rope-Walk. 

It  matters  not  what  stranded  ships   re- 
pairing in  dry  docks  I  lost  myself  among, 


104  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

wliat  old  hulls  of  ships  in   course  of  being 
knocked  to  pieces,  what  ooze  and  slirae  and 
other  dregs  of  tide,  what   yards   of  ship- 
builders and  ship-breakers,  what  rusty  an- 
chors blindly  biting  into  the  ground  though 
for    years    off     duty,    what    mountainous 
country  of  accumulated  casks  and  timber, 
how  many  rope- walks  that  were  not  the  Old 
Green  Copper.     After  several  times  falling 
short  of  my  destination  and  as  often  over- 
shooting it,   I  came  unexpectedly  round  a 
corner,  upon  Mill  Pond  Bank.     It  was  a 
fresh  kind  of  place,  all  circumstances  consi- 
dered, where  the  wind  from  the  river  had 
room  to  turn  itself  round ;  and  there  were 
two  or  three  trees  in  it,  and  there  was  the 
stump  of  a  ruined  windmill,  and  there  was 
the  Old  Green  Copper  Rope- Walk — whose 
long  and  narrow  vista  I   could  trace  in  the 
moonlio;ht,  alono'  a  series  of  wooden  frames 
set  in  the  ground,  that  looked  like  superan- 
nuated haymaking-rakes  which  had  grown 
old  and  lost  most  of  their  teeth. 

Selecting  from  the  few  queer  houses  upon 
Mill  Pond  Bank,  a  house  with  a  wooden 
front  and  three  stories  of  bow-window  (not 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  105 

bay-window,  which  is  another  thing),  I 
looked  at  the  plate  upon  the  door,  and  read 
there,  Mrs.  Whimple.  That  being  the  name 
I  wanted,  I  knocked,  and  an  elderly  woman 
of  a  pleasant  and  thriving  appearance  re- 
sponded. She  was  immediately  deposed, 
however,  by  Herbert,  who  silently  led  me 
into  the  parlour  and  shut  the  door.  It  was 
an  odd  sensation  to  see  his  very  familiar 
face  established  quite  at  home  in  that  very 
unfamiliar  room  and  region ;  and  I  found 
myself  looking  at  him,  much  as  I  looked  at 
the  corner-cupboard  with  the  glass  and 
china,  the  shells  upon  the  chimney-piece, 
and  the  coloured  engravings  on  the  wall, 
representing  the  death  of  Captain  Cook,  a 
ship-launch,  and  his  Majesty  King  George 
the  Third  in  a  state-coachman's  wig,  leather- 
breeches,  and  top-boots,  on  the  terrace  at 
Windsor. 

"  All  is  well,  Handel,"  said  Herbert,  "  and 
he  is  quite  satisfied,  though  eager  to  see 
you.  My  dear  girl  is  with  her  father ;  and 
if  you'll  wait  till  she  comes  do^^^l,  I'll  make 
you  knoA^^l  to  her,  and  then  we'll  go  up- 
stairs.  That's  her  father." 


lOG  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  had  become  aware  of  an  alarmin2:  orowl- 
ing  overhead,  and  had  probably  expressed 
the  fact  in  my  countenance. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  a  sad  old  rascal,"  said 
Herbert,  smiling,  "  but  I  have  never  seen 
him.  Don't  you  smell  rum  ?  He  is  always 
at  it." 

"At  rum?"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  returned  Herbert,  "and  you  may 
suppose  how  mild  it  makes  his  gout.  He 
persists,  too,  in  keeping  all  the  provisions 
up-stairs  in  his  room,  and  ser\'ing  them  out. 
He  keeps  them  on  shelves  over  his  head, 
and  icill  weigh  them  all.  His  room  must 
be  like  a  chandler's  shop." 

While  he  thus  spoke,  the  growling  noise 
became  a  prolonged  roar,  and  then  died 
away. 

"What  else  can  be  the  consequence,"  said 
Herbert,  in  explanation,  "  if  he  iviU  cut  the 
cheese  ?  A  man  with  the  gout  in  his  right 
hand — and  every^^here  else — can't  expect 
to  s:et  throusrh  a  Double  Gloucester  mthout 
hurtino;  hunself." 

He  seemed  to  have  hurt  himself  very 
much,  for  he  gave  another  furious  roar. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  107 

"  To  have  Pro  vis  for  an  upper  lodger  is 
quite  a  godsend  to  Mrs.  Whimple,"  said 
Herbert,  "for  of  course  people  in  general 
won't  stand  that  noise.  A  curious  place, 
Handel;  isn't  it?" 

It  was  a  curious  place,  indeed;  but  re- 
markably well  kept  and  clean. 

"  Mrs.  Whimple,"  said  Herbert,  when  I 
told  him  so,  "  is  the  best  of  housewives,  and  I 
really  do  not  know  what  my  Clara  would 
do  without  her  motherly  help.  For,  Clara 
has  no  mother  of  her  o^vn,  Handel,  and  no 
relation  in  the  world  but  old  GruiFand- 
grim." 

"  Surely  that's  not  his  name,  Herbert  ?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Herbert,  "  that's  my  name 
for  him.  His  name  is  Mr.  Barley.  But 
what  a  blessing  it  is  for  the  son  of  my  fa- 
ther and  mother,  to  love  a  girl  who  has  no 
relations,  and  who  can  never  bother  herself, 
or  anybody  else,  about  her  family ! " 

Herbert  had  told  me  on  former  occasions, 
and  now  reminded  me,  that  he  first  knew 
Miss  Clara  Barley  when  she  was  completing 
her  education  at  an  establishment  at  Ham- 
mersmith, and  that  on  her  being  recalled 


108  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

home  to  nurse  her  father,  he  and  she  had 
confided  their  affection  to  the  motherly  Mrs. 
Whimple,  by  whom  it  had  been  fostered 
and  regulated  with  equal  kindness  and  dis- 
cretion, ever  since.  It  was  understood  that 
nothing  of  a  tender  nature  could  possibly  be 
confided  to  old  Barley,  by  reason  of  his 
being  totally  unequal  to  the  consideration  of 
any  subject  more  psychological  than  Gout, 
Rum,  and  Purser's  stores. 

As  we  were  thus  conversing  in  a  low  tone 
while  Old  Barle3^'s  sustained  growl  vibrated 
in  the  beam  that  crossed  the  ceiling,  the 
room  door  opened,  and  a  very  pretty  slight 
dark-eyed  girl  of  twenty  or  so,  came  in  with 
a  basket  in  her  hand  :  whom  Herbert  ten- 
derly reheved  of  the  basket,  and  presented 
blushing,  as  "Clara."  She  really  was  a 
most  charming  girl,  and  might  have  passed 
for  a  captive  fairy,  whom  that  truculent 
Ogre,  Old  Barley,  had  pressed  into  his 
service. 

"Look  here,"  said  Herbert,  showing  me 
the  basket,  with  a  compassionate  and  tender 
smile  after  we  had  talked  a  little;  here's 
poor  Clara's  supper,  served  out  every  night. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  109 

Here's  her  allowance  of  bread,  and  here's 
her  slice  of  cheese,  and  here's  her  rum 
— which  I  drink.  This  is  Mr.  Barley's 
breakfast  for  to-morrow,  served  out  to  be 
cooked.  Two  mutton  chops,  three  potatoes, 
some  split  peas,  a  little  flour,  two  ounces  of 
butter,  a  pinch  of  salt,  and  all  this  black 
pepper.  It's  stewed  up  together,  and  taken 
hot,  and  it's  a  nice  thing  for  the  gout,  I 
should  think  ! " 

There  was  something  so  natural  and  win- 
ning in  Clara's  resigned  way  of  looking  at 
these  stores  in  detail,  as  Herbert  pointed 
them  out, — and  something  so  confiding, 
loving,  and  innocent,  in  her  modest  man- 
ner of  yielding  herself  to  Herbert's  em- 
bracing; arm — and  somethino-  so  o-entle  in 
her,  so  much  needing  protection  on  Mill 
Pond  Bank,  by  Chinks's  Basin,  and  the  Old 
Green  Copper  Rope- Walk,  with  Old  Barley 
growling  in  the  beam — that  I  would  not 
have  undone  the  eno-ao-ement  between  her 
and  Herbert,  for  all  the  money  in  the  pocket- 
book  I  had  never  opened. 

I  was  looking  at  her  with  pleasure  and 
admiration,  when  suddenly  the  growl  swelled 


110  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

into  a  roar  again,  and  a  frightful  bumping 
noise  was  heard  above,  as  if  a  giant  with  a 
wooden  leg  were  trying  to  bore  it  through  the 
ceiling  to  come  at  us.  Upon  this  Clara  said 
to  Herbert,  "  Papa  wants  me,  darling !"  and 
ran  away. 

"  There  is  an  unconscionable  old  shark  for 
you !"  said  Herbert.  "  What  do  you  sup- 
pose he  wants  now,  Handel?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  I.  "  Something  to 
drink?" 

"That's  it!"  cried  Herbert,  as  if  I  had 
made  a  guess  of  extraordinary  merit.  "  He 
keeps  his  grog  ready-mixed  in  a  little  tub 
on  the  table.  Wait  a  moment,  and  you'll 
hear  Clara  lift  him  up  to  take  some. — ^There 
he  goes !"  Another  roar,  with  a  prolonged 
shake  at  the  end.  "  Now,"  said  Herbert,  as 
it  was  succeeded  by  silence,  "  he's  drinking. 
Now,"  said  Herbert,  as  the  growl  resounded 
in  the  beam  once  more,  "  he's  down  again  on 
his  back !" 

Clara  returned  soon  afterwards,  and  Her- 
bert accompanied  me  up-stairs  to  see  our 
charge.    As  we  passed  Mr.  Barley's  door,  he 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Ill 

was  heard  hoarsely  muttering  within,  in  a 
strain  that  rose  and  fell  like  wind,  the  follow- 
ing Refrain;  in  which  I  substitute  good  wishes 
for  something  quite  the  reverse. 

"  Ahoy !  Bless  your  eyes,  here's  old  BiU 
Barley.  Here's  old  Bill  Barley,  bless  your 
eyes.  Here's  old  BiU  Barley  on  the  flat  of 
his  back,  by  the  Lord,  Lying  on  the  flat  of 
his  back,  like  a  drifting  old  dead  flounder, 
here's  your  old  Bill  Barley,  bless  your  eyes. 
Ahoy!  Bless  you." 

In  this  strain  of  consolation,  Herbert  in- 
formed me  the  invisible  Barley  would  com- 
mune with  himself  by  the  day  and  night 
together ;  often  while  it  was  light,  having, 
at  the  same  time,  one  eye  at  a  telescope 
which  is  fitted  on  his  bed  for  the  convenience 
of  sweeping  the  river. 

In  his  two  cabin  rooms  at  he  top  of  the 
house,  which  were  fresh  and  air}^,  and  in 
which  Mr.  Barley  was  less  audible  than 
below,  I  found  Provis  comfortably  settled. 
He  expressed  no  alarm,  and  seemed  to  feel 
none  that  was  worth  mentioning ;  but  it 
struck  me  that  he  was  softened — indefinably. 


112  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

for  I  could  not  have  said  how,  and  could 
never  afterwards  recal  how  when  I  tried; 
but  certainlv. 

The  opportunity  that  the  day's  rest  had 
given  me  for  reflection,  had  resulted  in  my 
fully  detennining  to  say  nothing  to  him  re- 
specting Compeyson.  For  anything  I  knew, 
his  animosit}^  towards  the  man  might  other- 
wise lead  to  his  seeking  him  out  and  rushing 
on  his  own  destruction.  Therefore,  when 
Herbert  and  I  sat  down  with  him  by  his 
fire,  I  asked  him  first  of  all  whether  he  re- 
lied on  Wemmick's  judgment  and  sources  of 
information  ? 

"Ay,  ay,  dear  boy!"  he  answered,  with  a 
grave  nod,  "  Jaggers's  knows." 

"  Then,  I  have  talked  with  Wemmick," 
said  I,  "  and  have  come  to  tell  vou  what 
caution  he  gave  me  and  Avhat  advice." 

This  I  did  accurately,  with  the  reserva- 
tion just  mentioned ;  and  I  told  him  how 
Wemmick  had  heard,  in  Newgate  prison 
(whether  from  officers  or  prisoners  I  could 
not  say),  that  he  was  under  some  suspicion, 
and  that  my  chambers  had  been  watched ; 
how  Wemmick  had  recommended  his  keep- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIOXS.  113 

ing  close  for  a  time,  and  my  keeping  away 
from  liim ;  and  what  Wemmick  had  said 
.about  getting  him  abroad.  I  added,  that  of 
course,  when  the  time  came,  I  should  go 
with  him,  or  should  follow  close  upon  him, 
as  might  be  safest  in  Wemmick's  judgment. 
What  was  to  follow  that,  I  did  not  touch 
upon ;  neither  indeed  was  I  at  all  clear  or 
comfortable  about  it  in  my  o-\vn  mind,  now 
that  I  saw  him  in  that  softer  condition,  and 
in  declared  peril  for  my  sake.  As  to  alter- 
ing my  way  of  living,  by  enlarging  my  ex- 
penses, I  put  it  to  him  whether  in  our  pre- 
sent unsettled  and  difficult  circumstances,  it 
would  not  be  simply  ridiculous,  if  it  were  no 
worse  ? 

He  could  not  deny  this,  and  indeed  was 
very  reasonable  throughout.  His  coming- 
back  was  a  venture,  he  said,  and  he  had 
ahvays  known  it  to  be  a  venture.  He  would 
do  nothing  to  make  it  a  desperate  venture, 
and  he  had  very  little  fear  of  his  safety  witli 
such  good  help. 

Herbert,  Avho  had  been  looking  at  the 
fire  and  pondering,  here  said  that  some- 
thino;  had  come  into  his  thou2:hts  arisinof  out 

VOL.  III.  I 


114  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

of  Wemmick's  suggestion,  wliicli  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  pursue.  "  We  are  both 
good  watermen,  Handel,  and  could  take  him  ^ 
down  the  river  ourselves  when  the  right 
time  conies.  No  boat  would  then  be  hired 
for  the  purpose,  and  no  boatmen  ;  that 
would  save  at  least  a  chance  of  suspicion, 
and  any  chance  is  worth  saving.  Never 
mind  the  season  ;  don't  you  think  it  might 
be  a  good  thing  if  you  began  at  once  to 
keep  a  boat  at  the  Temple  stairs,  and  were 
in  the  habit  of  rowing  up  and  down  the 
river  ?  You  fall  into  that  habit,  and  then 
who  notices  or  minds?  Do  it  tAventy  or 
fifty  times,  and  there  is  nothing  special  in 
your  doing  it  the  twenty-first  or  fifty-first." 

I  liked  this  scheme,  and  Provis  was  quite 
elated  by  it.  We  agreed  that  it  should  be 
carried  into  execution,  and  that  Provis 
should  never  recognise  us  if  we  came  below 
Bridge  and  rowed  past  MiU  Pond  Bank. 
But,  we  further  agreed  that  he  should  pull 
do^^^l  the  blind  in  that  part  of  his  window 
which  gave  upon  the  east,  whenever  he  saAV 
us  and  all  was  right. 

Our  conference   being   now  ended,   and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  115 

everythuig  arranged,  I  rose  to  go  ;  remark- 
insr  to  Herbert  that  lie  and  I  had  better  not 
go  home  together,  and  that  I  would  take 
half  an  hour's  start  of  him.  "  I  don't  like 
to  leave  you  here,"  I  said  to  Provis,  "  though 
I  cannot  doubt  your  being  safer  here  than 
near  me.     Good-by !" 

"  Dear  boy,"  he  answered,  clasping  my 
hands,  "  I  don't  know  when  we  may  meet 
again,  and  I  don't  like  Good-by.  Say  Good 
Night!" 

"  Good  nio-ht !  Herbert  will  o;o  reo-ularlv 
between  us,  and  when  the  time  comes  you 
may  be  certain  I  shall  be  ready.  Good  night, 
Good  night !" 

We  thought  it  best  that  he  should  stay 
in  his  o'wn  rooms,  and  we  left  him  on  the 
landing  outside  his  door,  holdino-  a  h2:ht 
over  the  stair-rail  to  hght  us  down  stairs. 
Looking  back  at  him,  I  thought  of  the  first 
night  of  his  return  when  our  positions  were 
reversed,  and  when  I  little  supposed  my 
heart  could  ever  be  as  heavy  and  anxious  at 
parting  from  him  as  it  was  now. 

Old  Barley  was  growling  and  swearing 
when  we  repassed  his  door,  with  no  appear- 
i2 


IIG  GREAT  EXrECTATIOXS. 

ance  of  having  ceased  or  of  meaning  to  cease. 
When  we  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  I 
asked  Herbert  whether  he  had  preserved  the 
name  of  Provis  ?  He  replied,  certainly  not, 
and  that  the  lodger  was  Mr.  Campbell.  He 
also  explained  that  the  utmost  known  of 
Mr.  Campbell  there,  was,  that  he  (Herbert) 
had  Mr.  Campbell  consigned  to  him,  and  felt 
a  strong  personal  interest  in  his  being  well 
cared  for,  and  living  a  secluded  life.  So, 
when  we  went  into  the  parlour  where  Mrs. 
Whimple  and  Clara  were  seated  at  work,  I 
said  nothing  of  my  own  interest  in  Mr. 
Campbell,  but  kept  it  to  myself. 

When  I  had  taken  leave  of  the  pretty 
gentle  dark-eyed  girl,  and  of  the  motherly 
woman  who  had  not  outlived  her  honest  sym- 
pathy with  a  little  affair  of  true  love,  I  felt  as  if 
the  Old  Green  Copper  Rope-AValk  had  grown 
quite  a  different  place.  Old  Barley  might 
be  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  might  swear  like  a 
whole  field  of  troopers,  but  there  were  re- 
deeming youth  and  trust  and  hope  enough 
in  Chinks's  Basin  to  fill  it  to  overflowing. 
And  then  I  thought  of  Estella,  and  of  our 
parting,  and  went  home  very  sadly. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  117 

All  things  Avere  as  quiet  in  the  Temple  as 
ever  I  had  seen  them.  The  windows  of  the 
rooms  on  that  side,  lately  occupied  by  Pro  vis, 
were  dark  and  stiU.  and  there  was  no  lounger 
in  Garden-court.  I  walked  past  the  fountain 
twice  or  thrice  before  I  descended  the  steps 
that  were  between  me  and  my  rooms,  but  I 
was  quite  alone.  Herbert  coming  to  my  bed- 
side when  he  came  in — for  I  went  straight 
to  bed,  dispirited  and  fatigued — made  the 
same  report.  023ening  one  of  the  windows 
after  that,  he  looked  out  into  the  moonlight, 
and  told  me  that  the  pavement  was  as 
solemnly  empty  as  the  pavement  of  any 
Cathedral  at  that  same  hour. 

Next  day,  I  set  myself  to  get  the  boat. 
It  was  soon  done,  and  the  boat  was  brought 
round  to  the  Temple-stairs,  and  lay  where  I 
could  reach  her  within  a  minute  or  two. 
Then,  I  began  to  go  out  as  for  training  and 
practice  :  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with 
Herbert.  I  was  often  out  in  cold,  rain,  and 
sleet,  but  nobody  took  much  note  of  me 
after  I  had  been  out  a  few  times.  At  first, 
I  kept  above  Blackfriars  Bridge  ;  but  as  the 
hours  of  the  tide  changed,  I  took  towards 


118  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

London  Bridge.  It  was  Old  London  Bridge 
in  those  days,  and  at  certain  states  of  the 
tide  there  was  a  race  and  a  fall  of  water 
there  which  gave  it  a  bad  reputation.  But 
I  knew  well  enough  how  to  ''  shoot"  the 
bridge  after  seeing  it  done,  and  so  began  to 
row  about  among  the  shipping  in  the  Pool, 
and  down  to  Erith.  The  first  time  I  passed 
Mill  Pond  Bank,  Herbert  and  I  were  pulling 
a  pair  of  oars ;  and,  both  in  going  and  re- 
turning, we  saw  the  blind  towards  the  east 
come  down.  Herbert  was  rarely  there  less 
frequently  than  three  times  in  a  week,  and 
he  never  brought  me  a  single  word  of  in- 
telligence that  was  at  all  alarming.  Still,  I 
knew  that  there  was  cause  for  alann,  and  I 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  notion  of  being 
watched.  Once  received,  it  is  a  haunting 
idea ;  how  many  undesigning  persons  I  sus- 
pected of  watching  me,  it  would  be  hard  to 
calculate. 

In  short,  I  was  always  full  of  fears  for  the 
rash  man  who  was  in  hiding.  Herbert  had 
sometimes  said  to  me  that  he  found  it  plea- 
sant to  stand  at  one  of  our  windows  after 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  119 

dark,  when  the  tide  was  running  doTvm,  and 
to  think  that  it  was  flowing,  with  every- 
thing it  bore,  towards  Clara.  But  I  thought 
mth  dread  that  it  was  flowing  towards  J\Iag- 
witch,  and  that  any  black  mark  on  its  sur- 
face might  be  his  pursuers,  going  swiftly, 
silently,  and  surely,  to  take  hun. 


120  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Some  weeks  passed  without  bringing  any 
change.  We  waited  for  Wemmick,  and  he 
made  no  sign.  If  1  had  never  kno-\vn  him 
out  of  Little  Britain,  and  had  never  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  being  on  a  familiar  footing 
at  the  Castle,  I  might  have  doubted  him ; 
not  so  for  a  moment,  knowing  him  as  I 
did. 

My  worldly  affairs  began  to  wear  a  gloomy 
appearance,  and  I  was  pressed  for  money  by 
more  than  one  creditor.  Even  I  myself 
began  to  know  the  want  of  money  (I  mean 
of  ready  money  in  my  o^vn  pocket),  and  to 
relieve  it  by  converting  some  easily  spared 
articles  of  jewellery  into  cash.     But  I  had 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  121 

quite  determined  that  it  would  be  a  heart- 
less fraud  to  take  more  money  from,  my 
patron  in  the  existing  state  of  my  uncer- 
tain thoughts  and  plans.  Therefore,  I  had 
sent  him  the  unopened  pocket-book  by  Her- 
bert, to  hold  in  his  own  keeping,  and  I  felt 
a  kind  of  satisfaction  —  whether  it  was  a 
false  kind  or  a  true,  I  hardly  know — in  not 
having  profited  by  his  generosity  since  his 
revelation  of  himself. 

As  the  time  wore  on,  an  impression  settled 
heavily  upon  me  that  Estella  was  married. 
Fearful  of  having  it  confirmed,  though  it 
was  all  but  a  conviction,  I  avoided  the 
newspapers,  and  begged  Herbert  (to  whom 
I  had  confided  the  circumstances  of  our 
last  interview)  never  to  speak  of  her  to  me. 
Why  I  hoarded  up  this  last  wretched  little 
rag  of  the  robe  of  hope  that  was  rent  and 
given  to  the  "winds,  how  do  I  know  !  Why 
did  you  who  read  this,  commit  that  not 
dissimilar  inconsistency  of  your  own,  last 
year,  last  month,  last  week  ? 

It  was  an  unhappy  life  that  I  lived,  and 
its  one  dominant  anxiety,  towering  over  all 
its   other   anxieties   like   a  hiffh  mountain 


122  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

above  a  range  of  mountains,  never  disap- 
peared from  my  view.  Still,  no  new  cause 
for  fear  arose.  Let  me  start  from  my  bed 
as  I  would,  with  the  terror  fresh  upon  me 
that  he  was  discovered ;  let  me  sit  listening 
as  I  would,  Avith  dread,  for  Herbert's  re- 
turning step  at  night,  lest  it  should  be 
fleeter  than  ordinary,  and  winged  with  evil 
news ;  for  all  that,  and  much  more  to  like 
purpose,  the  round  of  things  went  on.  Con- 
demned to  inaction  and  a  state  of  constant 
restlessness  and  suspense,  I  rowed  about  in 
my  boat,  and  waited,  waited,  waited,  as  I 
best  could. 

There  were  states  of  the  tide  when,  having 
been  down  the  river,  I  could  not  get  back 
through  the  eddy-chafed  arches  and  star- 
lings of  old  London  Bridge  ;  then,  I  left  my 
boat  at  a  wharf  near  the  Custom  House,  to 
be  brought  up  afterwards  to  the  Temple 
stairs.  I  was  not  averse  to  doing  this,  as  it 
served  to  make  me  and  my  boat  a  com- 
moner incident  among  the  Avater-side  people 
there.  From  this  slight  occasion,  sprang 
two  meetings  that  I  have  now  to  tell  of. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  month  of  Fe- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  123 

hruary,  I  came  ashore  at  the  wharf  at  dusk. 
I  had  pulled  do^vn  as  far  as  Greenwich  with 
the  ebb  tide,  and  had  turned  with  the  tide. 
It  had  been  a  fine  bright  day,  but  had 
become  foggy  as  the  sun  dropped,  and  I  had 
had  to  feel  my  way  back  among  the  shipping, 
pretty  carefully.  Both  in  going  and  return- 
ing, I  had  seen  the  signal  in  his  window.  All 
well. 

As  it  was  a  raw  evening  and  I  was  cold, 
I  thought  I  would  comfort  myself  with  din- 
ner at  once  ;  and  as  I  had  hours  of  dejection 
and  solitude  before  me  if  went  home  to  the 
Temple,  I  thought  I  would  afterwards  go  to 
the  play.  The  theatre  where  Mr.  AYopsle 
had  achieved  his  questionable  triumph,  was 
in  that  waterside  neighbourhood  (it  is  no- 
where now),  and  to  that  theatre  I  resolved 
to  go.  I  was  aware  that  ^Ir.  Wopsle  had 
not  succeeded  in  reviving  the  Drama,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  had  rather  partaken  of  its 
decline.  He  had  been  ominously  heard  of, 
through  the  playbills,  as  a  faithful  Black,  in 
connexion  with  a  little  girl  of  noble  birth, 
and  a  monkey.  And  Herbert  had  seen  him 
as  a  predatory  Tartar  of  comic  propensities, 


124  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

with  a  face  like  a  red  brick,  and  an  out- 
rageous hat  all  over  bells. 

I  dined  at  what  Herbert  and  I  used  to 
call  a  Geographical  chop-house — where  there 
were  maps  of  the  world  in  porter-pot  rims 
on  every  half-yard  of  the  tablecloths,  and 
charts  of  gravy  on  every  one  of  the  knives 
— to  this  day  there  is  scarcely  a  single  chop- 
house  within  the  Lord  Mayor's  dominions 
which  is  not  Geographical — and  wore  out  the 
time  in  dozing  over  crumbs,  staring  at  gas, 
and  baking  in  a  hot  blast  of  dinners.  By-and- 
by,  I  roused  myself  and  went  to  the  play. 

There,  I  found  a  virtuous  boatswain  in 
his  Majesty's  service — a  most  excellent  man, 
thoujrh  I  could  have  wished  his  trousers  not 
so  tight  in  some  places  and  not  quite  so 
loose  in  others — who  knocked  all  the  little 
men's  hats  over  their  eyes,  though  he  was 
very  generous  and  brave,  and  who  wouldn't 
hear  of  anybody's  paying  taxes,  though  he 
was  very  patriotic.  He  had  a  bag  of  money 
in  his  pocket,  like  a  pudding  in  the  cloth, 
and  on  tliat  property  married  a  young  per- 
son in  bed-furniture,  with  great  rejoicings; 
the  whole  population  of  Portsmouth  (nine 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  125 

in  number  at  the  last  Census)  turning  out 
on  the  beach,  to  rub  their  o^vn  hands  and 
shake  everybody  else's,  and  sing  "Fill,  fill!" 
A  certain  dark-complexioned  Swab,  however, 
who  wouldn't  fill,  or  do  anything  else  that 
was  proposed  to  him,  and  whose  heart  was 
openly  stated  (by  the  boatswain)  to  be  as 
black  as  his  figure-head,  proposed  to  two 
other  Swabs  to  get  all  mankind  into  difficul- 
ties; 'which  was  so  efl*ectually  done  (the 
Swab  family  ha\T.ng  considerable  political 
influence)  that  it  took  half  the  evening  to 
set  things  right,  and  then  it  was  only  brought 
about  throuo-h  an  honest  httle  orocer  with  a 
white  hat,  black  gaiters,  and  red  nose,  get- 
ting into  a  clock,  with  a  gridiron,  and  listen- 
ing, and  coming  out,  and  knocking  every- 
body down  from  behind  -svith  the  gridiron 
whom  he  couldn't  confute  with  what  he  had 
overheard.  This  led  to  Mr.  AYopsle's  (who 
had  never  been  heard  of  before)  coming  in 
with  a  star  and  garter  on,  as  a  plenipoten- 
tiary of  great  power  direct  from  the  Ad- 
miralty, to  say  that  the  Swabs  were  all  to 
go  to  prison  on  the  spot,  and  that  he  had 
brought   the   boatswain    down   the    Union 


126  GREAT  EXTECTATIONS. 

Jack,  as  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  his 
public  services.  The  boatswain,  unmanned 
for  the  first  time,  respectfully  dried  his  eyes 
on  the  Jack,  and  then  cheering  up  and  ad- 
dressing Mr.  Wopsle  as  Your  Honour,  soli- 
cited permission  to  take  him  by  the  fin.  Mr. 
Wopsle  conceding  his  fin  ^\dth  a  gracious 
dignity,  was  immediately  shoved  into  a  dusty 
corner  while  everybody  danced  a  hornpipe ; 
and  from  that  corner,  surveying  the  public 
with  a  discontented  eye,  became  aware  of 
me. 

The  second  piece  was  the  last  new  grand 
comic  Christmas  pantomime,  in  the  first 
scene  of  which,  it  pained  me  to  suspect  that 
I  detected  Mr.  Wopsle  with  red  worsted 
legs  under  a  highly  magnified  phos^^horic 
countenance  and  a  shock  of  red  curtain- 
fringe  for  his  hair,  engaged  in  the  manufac- 
ture of  thunderbolts  in  a  mine,  and  display- 
ing great  cowardice  when  his  gigantic 
master  came  home  (very  hoarse)  to  dinner. 
But  he  presently  presented  himself  under 
worthier  circumstances ;  for,  the  Genius  of 
Youthful  Love  being  in  want  of  assistance 
— on  account  of  the  parental  brutality  of  an 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  127 

ignorant  farmer  who  opposed  the  choice  of 
his  daughter's  heart,  by  purposely  falling 
upon  the  object,  in  a  flour  sack,  out  of  the 
first-floor  window — summoned  a  sententious 
Enchanter;  and  he,  coming  up  from  the 
antipodes  rather  unsteadily,  after  an  appa- 
rently violent  journey,  proved  to  be  Mr. 
Wopsle  in  a  high-croAvned  hat,  mth  a  ne- 
cromantic work  in  one  volume  under  his 
arm.  The  business  of  this  enchanter  on 
earth,  being  principally  to  be  talked  at,  sung 
at,  butted  at,  danced  at,  and  flashed  at  with 
fires  of  various  colours,  he  had  a  good  deal 
of  time  on  his  hands.  And  I  observed  with 
great  surprise,  that  he  devoted  it  to  staring 
in  my  direction  as  if  he  were  lost  in  amaze- 
ment. 

There  was  something  so  remarkable  in 
the  increasing  glare  of  Mr.  Wopsle's  eye, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  turning  so  many  things 
over  in  his  mind  and  to  grow  so  confused, 
that  I  could  not  make  it  out.  I  sat  think- 
ing of  it,  long  after  he  had  ascended  to  the 
clouds  in  a  large  watch-case,  and  stiU  I 
could  not  make  it  out.  I  was  still  thinking 
of  it  when  I  came  out  of  the  theatre  an  hour 


128  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

afterwards,  and  found  him  waiting  for  me 
near  the  door. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  said  I,  shaking 
hands  with  him  as  we  turned  down  the 
street  together.  "  I  saw  that  you  saw 
me." 

"  Saw  you,  Mr.  Pip !"  he  returned. 
"  Yes,  of  course  I  saw  you.  But  who  else 
was  there  ?" 

^' Who  else?" 

"It  is  the  strangest  thing,"  said  ]\Ir. 
Wopsle,  drifting  into  his  lost  look  again ; 
"  and  yet  I  could  swear  to  him." 

Becoming  alarmed,  I  entreated  JMr. 
Wopsle  to  explain  his  meaning. 

"  Whether  I  should  have  noticed  him  at 
first  but  for  your  being  there,"  said  Mr. 
Wopsle,  going  on  in  the  same  lost  way,  "  I 
can't  be  positive;  yet  I  think  I  should." 

Involuntarily  I  looked  round  me,  as  I 
was  accustomed  to  look  round  me  when  I 
went  home ;  for,  these  mysterious  words 
srave  me  a  chill. 

"  Oh !  He  can't  be  in  sight,"  said  Mr. 
Wopsle.  "  He  went  out,  before  I  went  off, 
I  saw  him  go." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  129 

Having  the  reason  that  I  had,  for  being 
suspicious,  I  even  suspected  this  poor  actor. 
I  mistrusted  a  design  to  entrap  me  into 
some  admission.  Therefore,  I  glanced  at 
him  as  we  walked  on  together,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  I  had  a  ridiculous  fancy  that  he  must 
be  with  you,  Mr.  Pip,  till  I  saw  that  you 
were  quite  unconscious  of  him,  sitting  be- 
hind you  there,  Uke  a  ghost." 

My  former  chill  crept  over  me  again,  but 
I  was  resolved  not  to  speak  yet,  for  it  was 
quite  consistent  with  his  words  that  he 
might  be  set  on  to  induce  me  to  connect 
these  references  with  Provis.  Of  course,  I 
was  perfectly  sure  and  safe  that  Pro'vds  had 
not  been  there. 

"  I  dare  say  you  wonder  at  me,  Mr.  Pip ; 
indeed  I  see  you  do.  But  it  is  so  very 
strange  !  You'U  hardly  believe  what  I  am 
going  to  teU  you.  I  could  hardly  believe 
it  myself,  if  you  told  me." 

"Indeed?"  said  I. 

"  No,  indeed.  Mr.  Pij),  you  remember  in 
old  times  a  certain  Christmas  Day,  when 
you  were  quite  a  child,  and  I  dined  at  Gar- 

VOL.  III.  K 


130  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

gery's,  and  some  soldiers  came  to  the  door  to 
get  a  pair  of  handcuffs  mended  ?" 

"  I  remember  it  very  well." 

"  And  you  remember  that  there  Avas  a 
chase  after  two  convicts,  and  that  we  joined 
in  it,  and  that  Gargery  took  you  on  his 
back,  and  that  I  took  the  lead  and  you  kept 
up  with  me  as  well  as  you  could  ?" 

"  I  remember  it  all  very  well."  Better 
than  he  thought — except  the  last  clause. 

"  And  you  remember  that  we  came  up 
with  the  two  in  a  ditch,  and  that  there  was 
a  scuffle  between  them,  and  that  one  of  them 
had  been  severely  handled  and  much  mauled 
about  the  face,  by  the  other  ?" 

"  I  see  it  all  before  me." 

"  And  that  the  soldiers  lighted  torches, 
and  put  the  two  in  the  centre,  and  that  we 
went  on  to  see  the  last  of  them,  over  the 
black  marshes,  with  the  torchlight  shining 
on  their  faces — I  am  particular  about  that ; 
with  the  torchlifjht  shinino;  on  their  faces, 
when  there  was  an  outer  rino-  of  dark  nisiht 
all  about  us?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I.     "  I  remember  all  that." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Pip,  one  of  those  two  pri- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  131 

soners  sat  behind  you  to-night.  I  saw  him 
over  your  shoulder." 

"  Steady !"  I  thought.  I  asked  him  then, 
"Which  of  the  two  do  you  suppose  you 
saw?" 

"  The  one  who  had  been  mauled,"  he  an- 
swered readily,  "  and  I'll  swear  I  saw  him  ! 
The  more  I  think  of  him,  the  more  certain 
I  am  of  him." 

"  This  is  very  curious !"  said  I,  with  the 
best  assumption  I  could  put  on,  of  its  being 
nothing  more  to  me.  "  Very  curious  in- 
deed !" 

I  cannot  exaggerate  the  enhanced  disquiet 
into  w^hich  this  conversation  threAV  me,  or 
the  special  and  peculiar  terror  I  felt  at  Com- 
peyson's  having  been  behind  me  "like  a 
gbost."  For,  if  he  had  ever  been  out  of 
my  thoughts  for  a  few  moments  together 
since  the  hiding  had  begun,  it  was  in  those 
very  moments  when  he  was  closest  to  me ; 
and  to  think  tliat  I  should  be  so  unconscious 
and  off  my  guard  after  all  my  care,  was  as 
if  I  had  shut  an  avenue  of  a  hundred  doors 
to  keep  him  out,  and  then  had  found  him 
at  my  elbow.  I  could  not  doubt  either  that 
k2 


132  GllEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

he  was  there,  because  I  Avas  there,  and  that 
however  slight  an  appearance  of  danger 
there  might  be  about  us,  danger  was  always 
near  and  active. 

I  put  such  questions  to  Mr.  AVopsle  as, 
AVlien  did  the  man  come  in  ?    He  could  not 
tell   me   that ;  he   saw   me,    and  over   my 
shoulder  he  saw  the  man.     It  was  not  until 
he  had  seen  him  for   some  time   that   he 
began  to  identify  him  ;  but  he  had  fi'om  the 
first  vaguely  associated  him  with  me,  and 
known  him  as  somehow  belonoino;  to  me  in 
the  old  village  time.     How  was  he  dressed  ? 
Prosperously,  but  not  noticeably  otherwise ; 
he  thought,  in  black.     AVas  his  face  at  all 
disfigured  ?  No,  he  believed  not.   I  believed 
not,  too,  for,  although  in  my  brooding  state 
I  had  taken  no  especial  notice  of  the  people 
behind  me,  I  thought  it  likely  that  a  face 
at  all   disfigured  would  have  attracted  my 
attention. 

When  Mr.  Wopsle  had  imparted  to  me 
all  that  he  could  recal  or  I  extract,  and 
Avhen  I  had  treated  him  to  a  little  appro- 
priate refreshment  after  the  fatigues  of  the 
evening,  we  parted.     It  was  between  twelve 


GREAT  EXrECTATIONS.  133 

and  one  o'clock  when  I  reached  the  Temple, 
and  the  gates  Avere  shut.  No  one  was  near 
me  when  I  went  in  and  went  home. 

Herbert  had  come  in,  and  we  held  a  very 
serious  council  by  the  fire.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done,  saving  to  communicate 
to  Wemmick  what  I  had  that  night  found 
out,  and  to  remind  him  that  we  waited  for 
his  hint.  As  I  thought  that  I  might  com- 
promise him  if  I  went  too  often  to  the 
Castle,  I  made  this  communication  by  letter. 
I  wrote  it  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  went 
out  and  posted  it;  and  again  no  one  Avas 
near  me.  Herbert  and  I  agreed  that  we 
could  do  nothing  else  but  be  very  cautious. 
And  we  were  very  cautious  indeed — more 
cautious  than  before,  if  that  were  possible — 
and  I  for  my  part  never  went  near  Chinks's 
Basin,  except  when  I  rowed  by,  and  then  I 
only  looked  at  Mill  Pond  Bank  as  I  looked 
at  anything  else. 


134  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  second  of  the  two  meetino-s  referred 
to  in  the  last  chapter,  occurred  about  a  week 
after  the  first.  I  had  again  left  my  boat  at 
the  wharf  below  Bridge ;  the  time  was  an 
hour  earlier  in  the  afternoon ;  and,  unde- 
cided where  to  dine,  I  had  strolled  up  into 
Cheapside,  and  was  strolling  along  it,  surely 
the  most  unsettled  person  in  all  the  busy 
concourse,  when  a  large  hand  was  laid  upon 
my  shoulder,  by  some  one  overtaking  me. 
It  was  Mr.  Jaggers's  hand,  and  he  passed  it 
through  my  arm. 

"As  we  are  going  in  the  same  direction, 
Pij),  Ave  may  walk  together.  Where  are 
you  bound  for?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  135 

"For  the  Temple,  I  think,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  Well,"  I  returned,  glad  for  once  to  get 
the  better  of  him  in  cross-examination,  "  I 
do  not  know,  for  I  have  not  made  up  my 
mind." 

"You  are  going  to  dine?"  said  Mr.  Jag- 
gers. "You  don't  mind  admitting  that,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"  No,"  1  returned,  "  I  don't  mind  admit- 
ting that." 

"  And  are  not  engaged  ?" 

"  I  don't  mind  admitting  also,  that  I  am 
not  engaged." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "come  and 
dine  mth  me." 

I  was  going  to  excuse  myself,  when  he 
added,  "Wemmick's  coming."  So,  I  changed 
my  excuse  into  an  acceptance — the  few 
words  I  had  uttered,  serving  for  the  begin- 
ning of  either — and  we  went  along  Cheapside 
and  slanted  off  to  Little  Britain,  while  the 
lights  were  springing  up  brilHantly  in  the 
shop  T\dndows,  and  the  street  lamp-lighters, 
scarcely  finding  ground  enough  to  plant 
their  ladders  on  in  the  midst  of  the  after- 


136  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

noon's  bustle,  were  skipping  up  and  doAvn 
and  running  in  and  out,  opening  more  red 
eyes  in  the  gathering  fog  than  my  rush- 
light tower  at  the  Hummums  had  opened 
white  eyes  in  the  ghostly  wall. 

At  the  office  in  Little  Britain  there  was 
the  usual  letter-^mting,  hand-washing,  can- 
dle-snuffing, and  safe-locking,  that  closed 
the  business  of  the  day.  As  I  stood  idle  by 
Mr.  Jaggers's  fire,  its  rising  and  falling 
flame  made  the  two  casts  on  the  shelf  look 
as  if  they  w^ere  playing  a  diabolical  game  at 
bo-peep  with  me ;  while  the  pair  of  coarse 
fat  office  candles  that  dimly  lighted  Mr. 
J  aggers  as  he  ^vrote  in  a  corner,  were  deco- 
rated with  dirty  Avinding-sheets,  as  if  in  re- 
membrance of  a  host  of  hanged  clients. 

We  went  to  Gerrard-street,  all  three  to- 
gether, in  a  hackney-coach  :  and  as  soon  as 
we  got  there,  dinner  was  served.  Although 
I  should  not  have  thought  of  making,  in 
that  place,  the  most  distant  reference  by  so 
much  as  a  look  to  Wemmick's  Walworth 
sentiments,  yet  I  should  have  had  no  ob- 
jection to  catching  his  eye  now  and  then  in 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  137 

a  friendly  way.  But  it  was  not  to  be  done. 
He  turned  his  eyes  on  Mr.  Jaggers  when- 
ever he  raised  them  from  the  table,  and  was 
as  dry  and  distant  to  me  as  if  there  were 
twin  Wemmicks  and  this  was  the  wrong 
one. 

"  Did  you  send  that  note  of  Miss  Ha- 
visham's  to  Mr.  Pip,  AYemmick  ?"  Mr. 
Jaggers  asked,  soon  after  we  began  dinner. 

"No,  sir,"  returned  Wemmick;  "it  Avas 
going  by  post,  when  you  brought  Mr.  Pip 
into  the  office.  Here  it  is."  He  handed  it 
to  his  principal,  instead  of  to  me. 

"  It's  a  note  of  two  lines,  Pip,"  said  Mr. 
Jaggers,  handing  it  on,  "  sent  up  to  me  by 
Miss  Havisham,  on  account  of  her  not  being 
sure  of  your  address.  She  tells  me  that  she 
wants  to  see  you  on  a  little  matter  of  busi- 
ness you  mentioned  to  her.  You'll  go 
doAvn  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  casting  my  eyes  over  the 
note,  which  was  exactly  in  those  terms. 

"  When  do  you  think  of  going  down?" 

"  I  have  an  impending  engagement,"  said 
I,  glancing  at  Wemmick,  who  was  putting 


138  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

fish  into  the  post-office,  "that  renders  me 
rather  uncertain  of  my  time.  At  once,  I 
think." 

"  If  Mr.  Pip  has  the  intention  of  going  at 
once,"  said  Wemmick  to  ]\Ir.  Jaggers,  "  he 
needn't  ^ATite  an  answer,  you  know." 

Receiving  this  as  an  intimation  that  it 
was  best  not  to  delay,  I  settled  that  I  would 
go  to-morrow,  and  said  so.  Wemmick 
drank  a  glass  of  mne  and  looked  with  a 
grimly  satisfied  air  at  ]\Ir.  Jaggers,  but  not 
at  me. 

"So,  Pip  !  Our  friend  the  Spider,"  said 
Mr.  Jaggers,  "has  played  his  cards.  He 
has  won  the  pool." 

It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  assent. 

"  Hah !  He  is  a  promising  fellow — ^in  his 
way — but  he  may  not  have  it  all  his  own 
way.  The  stronger  will  A^an  in  the  end,  but 
the  strono-er  has  to  be  found  out  first.  If 
he  should  turn  to,  and  beat  her " 

"  Surely,"  I  interrupted,  with  a  burning 
face  and  heart,  "you  do  not  seriously  think 
that  he  is  scoundrel  enousrh  for  that,  Mr. 
Jaaraers  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  so,  Pip.     I  am  putting  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIOKS.  139 

case.  If  he  sliould  turn  to  and  beat  lier,  lie 
may  possibly  get  the  strength  on  his  side ; 
if  it  should  be  a  question  of  intellect,  he 
certainly  will  not.  It  would  be  chance 
work  to  give  an  opinion  how  a  fellow  of 
that  sort  A\iU  turn  out  in  such  circum- 
stances, because  it's  a  toss-up  between  two 
results." 

"  May  I  ask  what  they  are  ?" 

"A  fellow  like  our  friend  the  Spider," 
answered  Mr.  Jaggers,  ''either  beats,  or 
cringes.  He  may  cringe  and  gro^tl,  or 
cringe  and  not  growl;  but  he  either  beats 
or  cringes.     Ask  Wemmick  his  opinion." 

"  Either  beats  or  cringes,"  said  Wemmick, 
not  at  all  addressing  himself  to  me. 

"  So,  here's  to  Mrs.  Bentley  Drummle," 
said  Mr.  Jaggers,  taking  a  decanter  of 
choicer  wine  from  his  dumb-waiter,  and 
filling  for  each  of  us  and  for  himself,  "  and 
may  the*  question  of  supremacy  be  settled 
to  the  lady's  satisfaction  !  To  the  satisfaction 
of  the  lady  and  the  gentleman,  it  never  will 
be.  Now,  MoUy,  Molly,  Molly,  ]\Iolly,  how 
slow  you  are  to-day !" 

She  was  at  his  elbow  when  he  addressed 


140  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

her,  putting  a  dish  upon  the  table.  As  she 
withdrew  her  hands  from  it,  she  fell  back  a 
step  or  two,  nervously  muttering  some  ex- 
cuse. And  a  certain  action  of  her  fingers  as 
she  spoke  arrested  my  attention. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  Nothing.  Only  the  subject  we  were 
speaking  of,"  said  I,  "was  rather  painful 
to  me." 

The  action  of  her  fingers  was  like  the 
action  of  knitting.  She  stood  looking  at 
her  master,  not  understanding  Avhether  she 
was  free  to  go,  or  whether  he  had  more  to 
say  to  her  and  would  call  her  back  if  she 
did  go.  Her  look  was  very  intent.  Surely, 
I  had  seen  exactly  such  eyes  and  such  hands, 
on  a  memorable  occasion  very  lately ! 

He  dismissed  her,  and  she  glided  out  of 
the  room.  But  she  remained  before  me,  as 
plainly  as  if  she  were  still  there.  I  looked 
at  those  hands,  I  looked  at  those  eyes,  I 
looked  at  that  flowing  hair ;  and  I  compared 
them  with  other  hands,  other  eyes,  other 
hair,  that  I  knew  of,  and  with  what  those 
might  be  after  twenty  years   of  a  brutal 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  141 

husband  and  a  stormy  life.  I  looked  again 
at  those  hands  and  eyes  of  the  housekeeper, 
and  thought  of  the  inexplicable  feeling  that 
had  come  over  me  when  I  last  walked — not 
alone — in  the  ruined  garden,  and  through 
the  deserted  brewery.  I  thought  how  the 
same  feeling  had  come  back  when  I  saw  a 
face  lookino^  at  me,  and  a  hand  wavino:  to 
me,  from  a  stage-coach  window;  and  how 
it  had  come  back  again  and  had  flashed 
about  me  like  Lightning,  when  I  had  passed 
in  a  carriage — not  alone — through  a  sudden 
glare  of  light  in  a  dark  street.  I  thought 
how  one  link  of  association  had  helped  that 
identification  in  the  theatre,  and  how  such  a 
link,  wanting  before,  had  been  riveted  for 
me  now,  when  I  had  passed  by  a  chance 
swift  from  Estella's  name  to  the  fino-ers  with 
their  knitting  action,  and  the  attentive  eyes. 
And  I  felt  absolutely  certain  that  this  wo- 
man was  Estella's  mother. 

Mr.  Jaggers  had  seen  me  with  Estella, 
and  was  not  likely  to  have  missed  the  senti- 
ments I  had  been  at  no  pains  to  conceal. 
He  nodded  when  I  said   the  subject  was 


142  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

painful  to  me,  clapped  me  on  the  back,  put 
round  the  wine  again,  and  went  on  Avith  his 
dinner. 

Only  twice  more,  did  the  housekeeper  re- 
appear, and  then  her  stay  in  the  room  Avas 
very  short,  and  Mr.  daggers  was  sharp  with 
her.  But  her  hands  w^ere  Estella's  hands, 
and  her  eyes  were  Estella's  eyes,  and  if  she 
had  reappeared  a  hundred  times  I  could  have 
been  neither  more  sure  nor  less  sure  that 
my  conviction  was  the  truth. 

It  was  a  dull  evening,  for  Wemmick  drew 
his  wine  when  it  came  round,  quite  as  a 
matter  of  business — just  as  he  might  have 
drawn  his  salary  when  that  came  round — and 
with  his  eyes  on  his  chief,  sat  in  a  state  of  per- 
petual readiness  for  cross-examination.  As 
to  the  quantity  of  wine,  his  post-office  was 
as  indifferent  and  ready  as  any  other  post- 
office  for  its  quantity  of  letters.  From  my 
point  of  view,  he  was  the  Avrong  twin  all  the 
time,  and  only  externally  like  the  Wemmick 
of  Wahvorth. 

We  took  our  leave  early,  and  left  toge- 
ther. Even  when  we  were  groping  among 
Mr.  Jaggers's  stock  of  boots  for  our  hats,  I 


GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  143 

felt  that  the  right  twin  was  on  his  way 
back;  and  we  had  not  gone  hah"  a  dozen 
yards  down  Gerrard-street  in  the  Walworth 
direction  before  I  found  that  I  was  walking 
arm-in-arm  with  the  right  twin,  and  that 
the  wrong  twin  had  evaporated  into  the 
evening  air. 

"Well!"  said  Wemmick,  '-that's  over! 
He's  a  w^onderful  man,  without  his  living 
Hkeness;  but  I  feel  that  I  have  to  screw 
myself  up  when  I  dine  with  him — and  I 
dine  more  comfortably  unscrewed. ' 

I  felt  that  this  w^as  a  good  statement  of 
the  case,  and  told  him  so, 

"Wouldn't  say  it  to  anybody  but  your- 
self," he  answered.  "  1  know  that  what  is 
said  between  you  and  me,  goes  no  further." 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  Miss 
Havisham's  adopted  daughter,  Mrs.  Bentley 
Drummle?  He  said  no.  To  avoid  being 
too  abrupt,  I  then  spoke  of  the  Aged,  and 
of  Miss  Skiffins.  He  looked  rather  sly  when 
I  mentioned  Miss  Skiffins,  and  stopped  in 
the  street  to  blow  his  nose,  with  a  roll  of  the 
head  and  a  flourish  not  quite  free  from 
latent  boastfuhiess. 


I 

li-uJt     Mt       Mrt^ 


Kiiuw  uL-i  ^y-y>^') — iiiui  IS,  1  uuii  I  Kiiuw  ail  01 
it.  But  Avliat  I  do  know,  111  tell  you.  We 
are  in  our  private  and  personal  capacities, 
of  course." 

"  Of  course." 

"  A  score  or  so  of  years  ago,  that  -woman 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  145 

^  but  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey  for  murder,  and 
was  acquitted.  She  was  a  very  handsome 
young  woman,  and  I  believe  had  some 
gipsy  blood  in  her.  Anyhow,  it  was  hot 
enough  when  it  was  up,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose." 

"But  she  was  acquitted." 

'•  Mr.  Jaggers  was  for  her,"  pursued 
Wemmick,  with  a  look  full  of  meaning, 
"  and  worked  the  case  in  a  way  quite  asto- 
nishing. It  was  a  desperate  case,  and  it  was 
comparatively  early  days  with  him  then, 
and  he  Avorked  it  to  general  admiration  ;  in 
fact,  it  may  ahnost  be  said  to  have  made 
him.  He  worked  it  himself  at  the  police- 
office,  day  after  day  for  many  days,  con- 
tendino;  a":ainst  even  a  committal ;  and  at 

CO  ' 

the  trial  v/here  he  couldn't  work  it  himself, 
sat  under  Counsel,  and — every  one  knew — 
put  in  all  the  salt  and  pepper.  The  mur- 
dered person  Avas  a  Avoman ;  a  Avoman,  a 
good  ten  years  older,  A'ery  much  larger,  and 
very  much  stronger.  It  Avas  a  case  of  jea- 
lousy. They  both  led  tramping  lives,  and 
this  Avoman  in  Gerrard-street  here  had  been 
married  very  young,  over  the  broomstick 

VOL.  III.  L 


144  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Wemmick,"  said  I,  "do  you  remember 
tellin":  me  before  I  first  went  to  Mr.  Jag- 
gers's  private  house,  to  notice  that  house- 
keeper ?" 

"  Did  I  ?"  he  replied.  "  Ah,  I  dare  say  I 
did.  Deuce  take  me,"  he  added,  suddenly, 
"  I  know  I  did.  I  find  I  am  not  quite  un- 
screwed yet." 

"  A  wild  beast  tamed,  you  called  her." 

"  And  what  do  you  call  her?" 

"  The  same.  How  did  Mr.  daggers  tame 
her,  Wemmick?" 

"  That's  his  secret.  She  has  been  with 
him  many  a  long  year." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  her  story. 
I  feel  a  particular  interest  in  being  ac- 
quainted with  it.  You  know  that  what 
is  said  between  you  and  me  goes  no  fur- 
ther." 

"Well!"  Wemmick  replied,  "I  don't 
know  her  story — that  is,  I  don't  know  all  of 
it.  But  what  I  do  know,  I'll  tell  you.  We 
are  in  our  private  and  personal  capacities, 
of  course." 

"  Of  course." 

"  A  score  or  so  of  years  ago,  that  woman 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  145 

but  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey  for  murder,  and 
was  acquitted.  She  was  a  very  handsome 
young  woman,  and  I  believe  had  some 
gipsy  blood  in  her.  Anyhow,  it  was  hot 
enough  when  it  was  up,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose." 

"  But  she  Avas  acquitted." 

"Mr.  Jaggers  was  for  her,"  pursued 
Wemmick,  with  a  look  full  of  meaning, 
"  and  worked  the  case  in  a  way  quite  asto- 
nishing. It  was  a  desperate  case,  and  it  was 
comparatively  early  days  Avith  him  then, 
and  he  worked  it  to  general  admiration  ;  in 
fact,  it  may  ahnost  be  said  to  have  made 
him.  He  worked  it  himself  at  the  police- 
office,  day  after  day  for  many  days,  con- 
tending against  even  a  committal ;  and  at 
the  trial  v/here  he  couldn't  work  it  himself, 
sat  under  Counsel,  and — every  one  knew — 
put  in  all  the  salt  and  pepper.  The  mur- 
dered person  was  a  woman  ;  a  woman,  a 
good  ten  years  older,  very  much  larger,  and 
very  much  stronger.  It  was  a  case  of  jea- 
lousy. They  both  led  tramping  lives,  and 
this  Avoman  in  Gerrard-street  here  had  been 
married  very  young,  over  the  broomstick 

VOL.  m.  L 


146  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

(as  we  say),  to  a  tramping  man,  and  was  a 
perfect  fury  in  point  of  jealousy.  The 
murdered  woman — more  a  match  for  the 
man,  certainly,  in  point  of  years — was  found 
dead  in  a  barn  near  Hounslow  Heath. 
There  had  been  a  violent  struggle,  perhaps 
a  fight.  She  was  bruised  and  scratched  and 
torn,  and  had  been  held  by  the  throat  at 
last  and  choked.  Now,  there  was  no  rea- 
sonable evidence  to  implicate  any  person 
but  this  woman,  and,  on  the  improbabilities 
of  her  having  been  able  to  do  it,  Mr.  Jag- 
gers  principally  rested  his  case.  You  may 
be  sure,"  said  AVemmick,  touching  me  on 
the  sleeve,  "that  he  never  dwelt  upon  the 
strength  of  her  hands  then,  though  he  some- 
times does  now." 

I  had  told  Wemmick  of  his  showing  us 
her  wrists,  that  day  of  the  dinner  party. 

"Well,  sir!"  Wemmick  went  on;  "it 
happened — happened,  don't  you  see  ? — that 
this  woman  was  so  very  artfully  dressed 
from  the  time  of  her  apprehension,  that  she 
looked  much  slighter  than  she  really  was ; 
in  particular,  her  sleeves  are  always  remem- 
bered to  have  been  so  skilfully  contrived 


GREAT  EXPECTATION'S.  147 

that  her  arms  had  quite  a  delicate  look. 
She  had  only  a  bruise  or  two  about  her — 
nothing  for  a  tramp — but  the  backs  of  her 
hands  Avere  lacerated,  and  the  question  was, 
was  it  with  finger-nails  ?  Noay,  Mr.  Jaggers 
showed  that  she  had  struggled  through  a 
great  lot  of  brambles  which  were  not  as 
high  as  her  face ;  but  Avhich  she  could  not 
have  got  through  and  kept  her  hands  out  of; 
and  bits  of  those  brambles  were  actually 
found  in  her  skin  and  put  in  evidence,  as 
well  as  the  fact  that  the  brambles  in  ques- 
tion were  found  on  examination  •  to  have 
been  broken  through,  and  to  have  little 
shreds  of  her  dress  and  little  spots  of  blood 
upon  them  here  and  there.  But  the  boldest 
point  he  made,  was  this.  It  was  attempted 
to  be  set  up  in  proof  of  her  jealousy,  that 
she  was  under  strong  suspicion  of  having, 
at  about  the  time  of  the  murder,  frantically 
destroyed  her  child  by  this  man — some  three 
years  old — to  revenge  herself  upon  him. 
Mr.  Jaggers  worked  that,  in  this  way.  '  We 
say  these  are  not  marks  of  finger-nails,  but 
marks  of  brambles,  and  we  show  you  the 
brambles.  You  sny  they  are  marks  of 
l2 


148  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

finger-nails,  and  you  set  up  the  hypothesis 
that  she  destroyed  her  chihL  You  must 
accept  all  consequences  of  that  hypothesis. 
For  anything  we  know,  she  may  have  de- 
stroyed her  child,  and  the  child  in  clinging 
to  her  may  have  scratched  her  hands.  What 
then  ?  You  are  not  trying  her  for  the  mur- 
der of  her  child ;  why  don't  you  ?  As  to 
this  case,  if  you  loill  have  scratches,  Ave  say 
that,  for  anything  we  know,  you  may  have 
accounted  for  them,  assuming  for  the  sake 
of  argument  that  you  have  not  invented 
them  ?'  To  sum  up,  sir,"  said  Wemmick, 
"Mr.  Jaggers  was  altogether  too  many  for 
the  Jury,  and  they  gave  in." 

"  Has  she  been  in  his  service  ever  since  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  not  only  that,"  said  Wemmick. 
"  She  went  into  his  service  immediately 
after  her  acquittal,  tamed  as  she  is  now. 
She  has  since  been  taught  one  thing  and 
another  in  the  way  of  her  duties,  but  she 
was  tamed  from  the  be^innino;," 

"  Do  you  remember  the  sex  of  the 
child?" 

"  Said  to  have  been  a  girl." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  149 

"You  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  me 
to-night?" 

"Nothing.  I  got  your  letter  and  de- 
stroyed  it.     Nothing." 

We  exchanged  a  cordial  Good  Night, 
and  I  went  home,  with  new  matter  for 
my  thoughts,  though  with  no  relief  from  the 
old. 


150  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Putting  Miss  Havisham's  note  in  my 
pocket,  that  it  might  serve  as  my  credentials 
for  so  soon  reappearing  at  Satis  House,  in 
case  her  waywardness  should  led  her  to  ex- 
press any  surprise  at  seeing  me,  I  went  down 
again  by  the  coach  next  day.  But,  I  alighted 
at  the  Halfway  House,  and  breakfasted  there, 
and  walked  the  rest  of  the  distance ;  for, 
I  sought  to  get  into  the  town  quietly  by 
the  unfrequented  ways,  and  to  leave  it  in 
the  same  manner. 

The  best  light  of  the  day  was  gone  when 
I  passed  along  the  quiet  echoing  courts 
lieliind  the  High-street.  The  nooks  of  ruin 
where  the  old  monks  had  once  had  their  re- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  151 

fectories  and  gardens,  and  where  the  strong 
walls  were  now  pressed  into  the  service  of 
humble  sheds  and  stables,  were  almost  as 

I      /I'M.  ^f\JUyLhX^id  i 


L 


150  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Putting  Miss  Havisham's  note  in  ray 
pocket,  that  it  might  serve  as  my  credentials 
for  so  soon  reappearing  at  Satis  House,  in 
case  her  waywardness  should  led  her  to  ex- 
press any  surprise  at  seeing  me,  I  went  down 
again  by  the  coach  next  day.  But,  I  alighted 
at  the  Halfway  House,  and  breakfasted  there, 
and  walked  the  rest  of  the  distance ;  for, 
I  sought  to  get  into  the  town  quietly  by 
the  unfrequented  ways,  and  to  leave  it  in 
the  same  manner. 

The  best  light  of  the  day  was  gone  when 
I  passed  along  the  quiet  echoing  courts 
behind  the  High-street.  The  nooks  of  ruin 
where  the  old  monks  had  once  had  their  re- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  loL 

fectories  and  gardens,  and  where  the  strong- 
walls  were  now  pressed  into  the  service  of 
humble  sheds  and  stables,  were  almost  as 
silent  as  the  old  monks  in  their  graves.  The 
cathedral  chimes  had  at  once  a  sadder  and  a 
more  remote  sound  to  me,  as  I  hurried  on 
avoiding  observation,  than  they  had  ever 
had  before ;  so,  the  swell  of  the  old  organ 
was  borne  to  my  ears  like  funeral  music ; 
and  the  rooks,  as  they  hovered  about  the 
grey  tower  and  swung  in  the  bare  high 
trees  of  the  prior}"-garden,  seemed  to  call  to 
me  that  the  place  was  changed,  and  that  Es- 
tella  was  gone  out  of  it  for  ever. 

An  elderly  woman  whom  I  had  seen  be- 
fore as  one  of  the  servants  who  lived  in  the 
supplementary  house  across  the  back  court- 
yard, opened  the  gate.  The  lighted  candle 
stood  in  the  dark  passage  within,  as  of  old, 
and  I  took  it  up  and  ascended  the  staircase 
alone.  Miss  Havisham  was  not  in  her  own 
room,  but  was  in  the  larger  room  across  the 
landing.  Looking  in  at  the  door,  after 
knocking  in  vain,  I  saw  her  sitting  on  the 
hearth  in  a  ragged  chair,  close  before,  and 
lost  in  the  contemplation  of,  the  ashy  fire. 


152  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Doing  as  I  had  often  done,  I  went  in,  and 
stood,  touching  the  old  chimney-piece,  where 
she  could  see  me  when  she  raised  her  eyes. 
There  was  an  air  of  utter  loneliness  upon 
her,  that  would  have  moved  me  to  pity 
though  she  had  wilfully  done  me  a  deeper 
injury  than  I  could  charge  her  -wdth.  As  I 
stood  compassionating  her,  and  thinking 
how  in  the  progress  of  time  I  too  had  come 
to  be  a  part  of  the  wrecked  fortunes  of  that 
house,  her  eyes  rested  on  me.  She  stared, 
and  said  in  a  Ioav  voice,  "  Is  it  real !" 

"  It  is  I,  Pip.  Mr.  daggers  gave  me  your 
note  yesterday,  and  I  have  lost  no  time." 

"  Thank  you.     Thank  you." 

As  I  brouo;ht  another  of  the  rao-(red  chairs 

O  CO 

to  the  hearth  and  sat  doA\ni,  I  remarked  a 
new  expression  on  her  face,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  of  me. 

"  I  want,"  she  said,  "to  pursue  that  sub- 
ject you  mentioned  to  me  when  you  were 
last  here,  and  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  all 
stone.  But  perhaps  you  can  never  believe, 
now,  that  there  is  anj^hing  human  in  my 
heart?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  153 

When  I  said  some  reassuring  words,  she 
stretched  out  her  tremulous  right  hand,  as 
thouo^h  she  was  o-oino;  to  touch  me  ;  but  she 
recalled  it  again  before  I  understood  the 
action,  or  knew  how  to  receive  it. 

"  You  said,  speaking  for  your  friend,  that 
you  could  teU  me  how  to  do  something  use- 
ful and  good.  Something  that  you  would 
like  done,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Something  that  I  would  like  done  very 
very  much." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  began  explaining  to  her  that  secret 
history  of  the  partnership.  I  had  not  got 
far  into  it,  when  I  judged  from  her  looks 
that  she  was  thinking  in  a  discursive  way  of 
me,  rather  than  of  what  I  said.  It  seemed 
to  be  so,  for,  when  I  stopped  speaking,  many 
moments  passed  before  she  showed  that  she 
was  conscious  of  the  fact. 

"  Do  you  break  off,"  she  asked  then,  with 
her  former  air  of  being  afraid  of  me,  "  be- 
cause you  hate  me  too  much  to  bear  to  speak 
to  me?" 

"  No,    no,"   I   answered,    "  how  can  you 


154  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

think  so,  Miss  Havisliam !  I  stopped  be- 
cause I  thought  you  were  not  following 
what  I  said." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  not,"  she  answered,  put- 
ting a  hand  to  her  head.  "  Begin  again, 
and  let  me  look  at  something  else.  Stay ! 
Now  tell  me." 

She  set  her  hand  upon  her  stick,  in  the  re- 
solute way  that  sometimes  was  habitual  to 
her,  and  looked  at  the  fire  with  a  strong  ex- 
pression of  forcing  herself  to  attend.  I  went 
on  with  my  explanation,  and  told  her  how 
I  had  hoped  to  complete  the  transaction  out 
of  my  means,  but  how  in  this  I  was  dis- 
appointed. That  part  of  the  subject  (I  re- 
minded her)  involved  matters  which  could 
form  no  part  of  my  explanation,  for  they 
were  the  weighty  secrets  of  another. 

"  So  !"  said  she,  assenting  with  her  head, 
but  not  looking  at  me.  "And  how  much 
money  is  wanting  to  complete  the  pur- 
chase ?" 

I  was  rather  afraid  of  stating  it,  for  it 
sounded  a  large  sum.  "  Nine  hundred 
pounds." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  155 

"  If  I  give  you  the  money  for  this  pur- 
pose, mil  you  keep  my  secret  as  you  have 
kept  your  own?" 

"  Quite  as  faithfully." 

"  And  your  mind  will  be  more  at  rest?" 

"  Much  more  at  rest." 

"  Are  you  very  unhappy  now  ?" 

She  asked  this  question,  still  without 
looking  at  me,  but  in  an  unwonted  tone  of 
s}Tinpathy.  I  could  not  reply  at  the  moment, 
for  my  voice  failed  me.  She  put  her  left 
arm  across  the  head  of  her  stick,  and  softly 
laid  her  forehead  on  it. 

"  I  am  far  from  happy.  Miss  Havisham ; 
but  I  have  other  causes  of  disquiet  than  any 
you  know  of  They  are  the  secrets  I  have 
mentioned." 

After  a  little  while,  she  raised  her  head 
and  looked  at  the  fire  again. 

"  It  is  noble  in  you  to  tell  me  that  you 
have  other  causes  of  unhappiness.  Is  it 
true  ?" 

"Too  true." 

"  Can  I  only  serve  you,  Pip,  by  serving 
your  friend?  Regarding  that  as  done,  is 
there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  yourself?" 


156  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Nothing.  I  thank  you  for  the  question. 
I  thank  you  even  more  for  the  tone  of  the 
question.     But,  there  is  nothing." 

She  presently  rose  from  her  seat,  and 
looked  about  the  blighted  room  for  the 
means  of  writing.  There  were  none  there, 
and  she  took  from  her  pocket  a  yellow  set  of 
ivory  tablets,  mounted  in  tarnished  gold, 
and  wrote  upon  them  with  a  pencil  in  a 
case  of  tarnished  gold  that  hung  from  her 
neck. 

"  You  are  still  on  friendly  terms  Avith  Mr. 
daggers?" 

"  Quite.     I  dined  with  him  yesterday." 

"This  is  an  authority  to  him  to  pay  you 
that  money,  to  lay  out  at  your  irresponsible 
discretion  for  your  friend.  I  keep  no  money 
here  ;  but  if  you  would  rather  Mr.  daggers 
knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  I  will  send  it 
to  you." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Havisham ;  I  have 
not  the  least  objection  to  receiving  it  from 
him." 

She  read  me  what  she  had  written,  and  it 
was  direct  and  clear,  and  evidently  intended 
to  absolve  me  from  any  suspicion  of  profit- 


GREAT  EXrECTATlONS.  157 

ing  by  the  receipt  of  the  money.  I  took  the 
tablets  from  her  hand,  and  it  trembled  again, 
and  it  trembled  more  as  she  took  off  the 
chain  to  which  the  pencil  was  attached,  and 
put  it  in  mine.  All  this  she  did,  without 
looking  at  me. 

"  My  name  is  on  the  first  leaf.  If  you  can 
ever  write  under  my  name,  '  I  forgive  her,' 
though  ever  so  long  after  my  broken  heart 
is  dust — pray  do  it !" 

"0  Miss  Havisham,"  said  I,  "I  can  do  it 
now.  There  have  been  sore  mistakes ;  and 
my  life  has  been  a  blind  and  thankless  one ; 
and  I  want  forgiveness  and  direction  far  too 
much,  to  be  bitter  with  you." 

She  turned  her  face  to  me  for  the  first 
time  since  she  had  averted  it,  and,  to  my 
amazement,  I  may  even  add  to  my  terror, 
dropped  on  her  knees  at  my  feet ;  with  her 
folded  hands  raised  to  me  in  the  manner  in 
which,  when  her  poor  heart  was  young  and 
fresh  and  whole,  they  must  often  have  been 
raised  to  heaven  from  her  mother's  side. 

To  see  her  Avith  her  white  hair  and  her 
worn  face  kneeling  at  my  feet,  gave  ine  a  shock 
through  all  my  frame.     I  entreated  her  to 


158  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

rise,  and  got  my  arms  about  her  to  help  her 
up ;  but  she  only  pressed  that  hand  of  mine 
which  Avas  nearest  to  her  grasp,  and  hung 
her  head  over  it  and  wept.  I  had  never 
seen  her  shed  a  tear  before,  and,  in  the  hope 
that  the  relief  might  do  her  good,  I  bent 
over  her  Avithout  speaking.  She  was  not 
kneeling  now,  but  Avas  down  upon  the 
ground. 

"  0  !"  she  cried,  despairingly.  "  What 
have  I  done !     What  have  I  done !" 

"  If  you  mean,  Miss  Havisham,  what  have 
you  done  to  injure  me,  let  me  answer.  Very 
little.  I  should  have  loved  her  under  any 
circumstances. — Is  she  married  ?" 

"  Yes." 

It  Avas  a  needless  question,  for  a  ncAV  deso- 
lation in  the  desolate  house  had  told  me  so. 

*'  What  have  I  done !  What  have  I 
done !"  She  Avrung  her  hands,  and  crushed 
her  white  hair,  and  returned  to  this  cry  o\^er 
and  oA^er  again.     "  What  have  I  done !" 

I  kncAv  not  hoAv  to  ansAver,  or  hoAV  to  com- 
fort her.  That  she  had  done  a  grievous 
thing  in  taking  an  impressionable  child  to 
mould  into  the  form  that  her  Avild  resent- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  159 

ment,  spurned  aiFection,  and  wounded  pride, 
found  vengeance  in,  I  knew  full  well.  But 
that,  in  shutting  out  the  light  of  day,  she 
had  shut  out  infinitely  more ;  that,  in  seclu- 
sion, she  had  secluded  herself  from  a  thou- 
sand natural  and  heal^g  influences ;  that, 
her  mind,  brooding  solitary,  had  grown 
diseased,  as  all  minds  do  and  must  and  will 
that  reverse  the  appointed  order  of  their 
Maker  ;  I  knew  equally  well.  And  could  I 
look  upon  her  without  compassion,  seeing 
her  punishment  in  the  ruin  she  was,  in  her 
profound  unfitness  for  this  earth  on  which 
she  was  placed,  in  the  vanity  of  sorrow 
which  had  become  a  master  mania,  like  the 
vanity  of  penitence,  the  vanity  of  remorse, 
the  vanity  of  unworthiness,  and  other  mon- 
strous vanities  that  have  been  curses  in  this 
world  ? 

"  Until  you  spoke  to  her  the  other  day, 
and  until  I  saw  in  you  a  looking-glass  that 
showed  me  Avhat  I  once  felt  myself,  I  did 
not  know  what  I  had  done.  What  have  I 
done  !  What  have  I  done !"  And  so  again, 
twent}',  fifty  times  over,  What  had  she 
done ! 


160  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Miss  Havisliam,"  I  said,  when  her  cry 
had  died  away,  "  you  may  dismiss  me  from 
your  mind  and  conscience.  But  Estella  is  a 
different  case,  and  if  you  can  ever  undo  any 
scrap  of  what  you  have  done  amiss  in  keep- 
ing a  part  of  her  light  nature  away  from 
her,  it  will  be  better  to  do  that,  than  to  be- 
moan the  past  through  a  hundred  years." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  it.  But,  Pip — my 
Dear !"  There  was  an  earnest  womanly  com- 
passion for  me  in  her  new  affection.  "  My 
Dear !  Believe  this  :  when  she  first  came 
to  me,  I  meant  to  save  her  from  misery  like 
my  own.     At  first  I  meant  no  more." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  I.     "  I  hope  so." 

"  But  as  she  grew,  and  promised  to  be 
very  beautiful,  I  gradually  did  worse,  and 
with  my  praises,  and  with  my  jewels,  and 
with  my  teachings,  and  with  this  figure  of 
myself  always  before  her  a  warning  to  back 
and  point  my  lessons,  I  stole  her  heart  away 
and  put  ice  in  its  place." 

"  Better,"  I  could  not  help  saying,  "  to 
have  left  her  a  natural  heart,  even  to  be 
bruised  or  broken." 

With  that.  Miss  Havisham   looked   dis- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIOXS.  161 

tractedly  at  me  for  a  while,  and  then  burst 
out  again,  AVhat  had  she  done ! 

"  If  )^ou  knew  all  my  story,"  she  pleaded, 
"  yon  would  have  some  compassion  for  me 
and  a  better  understanding  of  me." 

"  Miss  Havisham,"  I  answered,  as  deli- 
cately as  I  could,  "  I  believe  I  may  say  that 
I  do  know  your  story,  and  have  known  it 
ever  since  I  first  left  this  neighbourhood. 
It  has  inspired  me  with  great  commisera- 
tion, and  I  hope  I  understand  it  and  its  in- 
fluences. Does  what  has  passed  between  us 
give  me  any  excuse  for  asking  you  a  ques- 
tion relative  to  Estella  ?  Not  as  she  is,  but 
as  she  was  when  she  first  came  here  ?" 

She  was  seated  on  the  ground,  with  her 
arms  on  the  ragged  chair,  and  her  head 
leaning  on  them.  She  looked  full  at  me 
when  I  said  this,  and  replied,  "Go  on." 

"  Whose  child  was  Estella?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  don't  know?" 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  But  Mr.  Jaggers  brought  her  here,  or 
sent  her  here  ?" 

"  Brought  her  here." 

VOL.  III.  M 


162  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  how  that  came  about?" 

She  answered  in  a  low  whisper  and  -with 
caution :  "  I  had  been  shut  up  in  these 
rooms  a  long  time  (I  don't  know  how  long  ; 
you  know  Avhat  time  the  clocks  keep  here), 
when  I  told  him  that  I  wanted  a  little  girl 
to  rear  and  love,  and  save  from  my  fate. 
I  had  first  seen  him  when  I  sent  for  him  to 
lay  this  place  waste  for  me ;  having  read  of 
him  in  the  newspapers,  before  I  and  the 
world  parted.  He  told  me  that  he  M'ould 
look  about  him  for  such  an  orphan  child. 
One  night  he  brought  her  here  asleep,  and 
I  called  her  Estella." 

"  Might  I  ask  her  age  then?" 

"  Two  or  three.  She  herself  knoAvs 
nothing,  but  that  she  was  left  an  orphan 
and  I  adopted  her." 

So  convmced  I  was  of  that  woman's  being 
her  mother,  that  I  wanted  no  evidence  to 
establish  the  fact  in  my  own  mind.  But,  to 
any  mind,  I  thought,  the  connexion  here 
was  clear  and  straight. 

"What  more  could  I  hope  to  do  by  prolong- 
ing the  interview?  I  had  succeeded- on 
behalf  of  Herbert,  ]\Iiss  Ilavisham  had  told 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  1G3 

me  all  she  knew  of  Estella,  I  had  said  and 
done  what  I  could  to  ease  her  mind.  No 
matter  with  what  other  words  we  parted ; 
we  parted. 

T-\vilight  was  closing  in  when  I  went 
down  stairs  into  the  natural  air.  I  called 
to  the  woman  who  had  opened  the  gate  when 
I  entered,  that  I  would  not  trouble  her  just 
yet,  but  would  Avalk  round  the  place  before 
leaving.  For,  I  had  a  presentiment  that  I 
should  never  be  there  again,  and  I  felt  that 
the  dying  light  was  suited  to  my  last  view 
of  it. 

By  the  wilderness  of  casks  that  I  had 
walked  on  Ion";  ago,  and  on  which  the  rain 
of  years  had  fallen  since,  rotting  them  in 
many  places,  and  leaving  miniature  swamps 
and  pools  of  water  upon  those  that  stood  on 
end,  I  made  my  way  to  the  ruined  garden. 
I  went  all  round  it ;  round  by  the  corner 
where  Herbert  and  I  had  fought  our  battle; 
round  by  the  paths  where  Estella  and  I  had 
walked.     So  cold,  so  lonely,  so  dreary  all ! 

Taking  the  brewery  on  my  way  back,  I 
raised  the  rusty  latch  of  a  little  door  at  the 
garden  end  of  it,  and  walked  through.     I 
m2 


164  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"was  going  out  at  the  opposite  door — not  easy 
to  open  now,  for  the  damp  wood  had  started 
and  swelled,  and  the  hinges  were  yielding, 
and  the  thrcsliold  was  encumbered  with  a 
growth  of  fungus — Avhen  I  turned  my  head 
to  look  back.  A  childish  association  re- 
vived with  wonderful  force  in  the  moment 
of  the  slight  action,  and  I  fancied  that  I  saw 
Miss  Havisham  hanging  to  the  beam.  So 
strong  was  the  impression,  that  I  stood  un- 
der the  beam  shudderins;  from  head  to  foot 
before  I  knew  it  Avas  a  fancy — though  to  be 
sure  I  was  there  in  an  instant. 

The  mournfulness  of  the  place  and  time, 
and  the  great  terror  of  this  illusion,  though 
it  was  but  momentary,  caused  me  to  feel  an 
mdescribable  awe  as  I  came  out  between  the 
open  wooden  gates  Avhere  I  had  once  "SATung 
my  hair  after  Estella  had  wrung  my  heart. 
Passing  on  into  the  front  court-yard,  I  hesi- 
tated whether  to  call  the  woman  to  let  me 
out  at  the  locked  gate  of  which  she  had  the 
key,  or  first  to  go  upstairs  and  assure  myself 
that  ]\Iiss  Havisham  was  as  safe  and  well  as 
I  had  left  her.  I  took  the  latter  course  and 
went  up. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  165 

I  looked  into  the  room  where  I  had  left 
her,  and  I  saw  her  seated  in  the  ragged  chair 
upon  the  hearth  close  to  the  fire,  with  her 
back  towards  me.  In  the  moment  when  I 
was  withdrawing  my  head  to  go  quietly 
aAvay,  I  saw  a  great  flaming  hght  spring  up. 
In  the  same  moment,  I  saw  her  running  at 
me,  shrieking,  with  a  Avhirl  of  fire  blazing- 
all  about  her,  and  soaring  at  least  as  many 
feet  above  her  head  as  she  was  high. 

I  had  a  double-caped  great-coat  on,  and 
over  my  arm  another  thick  coat.  That  I 
got  them  ofi*,  closed  Avith  her,  threw  her 
down,  and  got  them  over  her ;  that  I 
dragged  the  great  cloth  from  the  table  for 
the  same  purpose,  and  with  it  dragged  down 
the  heap  of  rottenness  in  the  midst,  and  all 
the  ugly  things  that  sheltered  there;  that 
we  were  on  the  ground  struggling  like  des- 
perate enemies,  and  that  the  closer  I  covered 
her,  the  more  Avildly  she  shrieked  and  tried 
to  free  herself;  that  this  occurred  I  knew 
through  the  result,  but  not  through  any- 
thing I  felt,  or  thought,  or  knew  I  did.  I 
knew  nothing  until  I  knew  that  we  were  on 
the  floor  Ij}'  the  great  table,  and  that  patches 


1G6  GREAT  EXPECT ATIONS. 

of  tin(lcr3'et  aH^lit  were  floating  in  the  smoky 
air,  which,  a  moment  ago,  had  been  her 
faded  bridal  dress. 

Then,  I  looked  round  and  saw  the  disturbed 
beetles  and  spiders  running  away  over  the 
floor,  and  the  servants  coming  in  with 
breathless  cries  at  the  door.  I  still  held  her 
forcibly  do^vn  with  all  my  strength,  like  a 
prisoner  who  might  escape  ;  and  I  doubt  if 
I  even  knew  who  she  was,  or  why  we  had 
struggled,  or  that  she  had  been  in  flames,  or 
that  the  flames  were  out,  until  I  saw  the 
patches  of  tinder  that  had  been  her  gar- 
ments, no  longer  alight  but  falling  in  a  black 
shower  around  us. 

She  was  insensible,  and  I  was  afraid  to 
have  her  moved,  or  even  touched.  Assist- 
ance was  sent  for  and  I  held  her  until  it 
came,  as  if  I  unreasonably  fancied  (I  think 
I  did)  that  if  I  let  her  go,  the  fire  would 
break  out  again  and  consume  her.  When  I 
got  up,  on  the  surgeon's  coming  to  her  with 
other  aid,  I  was  astonished  to  see  that  both 
my  hands  were  burnt ;  for,  I  had  no  know- 
ledge of  it  through  the  sense  of  feeling. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  167 

On  examination  it  was  pronounced  that 
she  had  received  serious  hurts,  but  that  they 
of  themselves  were  far  from  hopeless ;  the 
danger  lay  mainly  in  the  nervous  shock. 
By  the  surgeon's  directions,  her  bed  was 
carried  into  that  room  and  laid  upon  the 
great  table :  which  happened  to  be  well 
suited  to  the  dressing  of  her  injuries.  When 
I  saw  her  again,  an  hour  afterwards,  she  lay 
indeed  where  I  had  seen  her  strike  her  stick, 
and  liad  heard  her  say  that  she  would  lie 
one  day. 

Though  every  vestige  of  her  dress  was 
burnt,  as  they  told  me,  she  still  had  some- 
thing of  her  old  ghastly  bridal  appearance  ; 
for,  they  had  covered  her  to  the  throat  with 
white  cotton-wool,  and  as  she  lay  with  a 
white  sheet  loosely  overlying  that,  the  phan- 
tom air  of  something  that  had  been  and  was 
changed,  was  still  upon  her. 

I  found,  on  questioning  the  servants,  that 
EsteUa  was  in  Paris,  and  I  got  a  promise 
from  the  surgeon  that  he  would  write  to  her 
by  the  next  post.  Miss  Havisham's  family 
I  took  upon  myself;  intending  to  commu- 


168  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

nicate  with  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  only,  and 
leave  him  to  do  as  he  liked  about  informing 
the  rest.  This  I  did  next  day,  through  Her- 
bert, as  soon  as  I  returned  to  town. 

There  was  a  stage,  that  evening,  when  she 
spoke  collectedly  of  what  had  happened, 
though  with  a  certain  terrible  vivacity.  To- 
wards midnight  she  began  to  wander  in  her 
speech,  and  after  that  it  gradually  set  in 
that  she  said  innumerable  times  in  a  low 
solemn  voice,  "What  have  I  done!"  And 
then,  "  When  she  first  came,  I  meant  to  save 
her  from  misery  like  mine."  And  then, 
"  Take  the  pencil  and  write  under  my  name, 
'  I  forgive  her !' "  She  never  changed  the 
order  of  these  three  sentences,  but  she  some- 
times left  out  a  word  in  one  or  other  of 
them ;  never  putting  in  another  word,  but 
always  leaving  a  blank  and  going  on  to  the 
next  word. 

As  I  could  do  no  service  there,  and  as  I 
had,  nearer  home,  that  pressing  reason  for 
anxiety  and  fear  which  even  her  wanderings 
could  not  drive  out  of  my  mind,  I  decided 
in  the  course  of  the  night  that  I  would  re- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  169 

turn  by  the  early  morning  coach  :  walking 
on  a  mile  or  so,  and  being  taken  up  clear  of 
the  town.  At  about  six  o'clock  of  the  morn- 
ing, therefore,  I  leaned  over  her  and  touched 
her  lips  with  mine,  just  as  they  said,  not 
stopping  for  being  touched,  "  Take  the 
pencil  and  ^\Tite  under  my  name,  '  I  forgive 
her.'  " 


1  70  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

My  hands  had  been  dressed  twice  or  thrice 
in  the  night,  and  again  in  the  morning. 
My  left  arm  was  a  good  deal  burned  to  the 
elbow,  and,  less  severely,  as  high  as  the 
shoulder ;  it  was  very  painful,  but  the  flames 
had  set  in  that  direction,  and  I  felt  thankful 
it  was  no  worse.  My  right  hand  was  not 
so  badly  burnt  but  that  I  could  move  the 
fingers.  It  was  bandaged,  of  course,  but 
much  less  inconveniently  than  my  left  hand 
and  arm  ;  those  I  carried  in  a  sling ;  and  I 
could  only  wear  my  coat  like  a  cloak,  loose 
over  my  shoulders  and  fastened  at  the  neck. 
My  hair  had  been  caught  by  the  fire,  but 
not  my  head  or  face. 

When  Herbert  had  been  down  to  Ham- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  171 

mersmith  and  seen  his  father,  he  came  back 
to  me  at  our  chambers,  and  devoted  the  day 
to  attending  on  me.  He  was  the  kindest  of 
nurses,  and  at  stated  times  took  off  the  ban- 
dages, and  steeped  them  in  the  cooling  liquid 
that  was  kept  ready,  and  put  them  on  again, 
with  a  patient  tenderness  that  I  was  deeply 
grateful  for. 

At  first,  as  I  lay  quiet  on  the  sofa,  I  found 
it  painfully  difficult,  I  might  say  impossible, 
to  get  rid  of  the  impression  of  the  glare  of 
the  flames,  their  hurry  and  noise,  and  the 
fierce  burnino;  smell.  If  I  dozed  for  a 
minute,  I  was  awakened  by  Miss  Havisham's 
cries,  and  by  her  ruiming  at  me  with  all 
that  height  of  fire  above  her  head.  This 
pain  of  the  mind  was  much  harder  to  strive 
against  than  any  bodily  pain  I  suffered ;  and 
Herbert,  seeing  that,  did  his  utmost  to  hold 
my  attention  engaged. 

Neither  of  us  spoke  of  the  boat,  but  we 
both  thought  of  it.  That  was  made  apparent 
by  our  avoidance  of  the  subject,  and  by  our 
agreeing — without  agreement — to  make  my 
recovery  of  the  use  of  my  hands,  a  question 
of  so  many  hours,  not  of  so  many  weeks. 


172  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

My  first  question  when  I  saw  Herbert  had 
been  of  course,  whether  all  was  well  down 
the  river  ?  As  he  replied  in  the  affirmative, 
with  perfect  confidence  and  cheerfulness, 
we  did  not  resume  the  subject  until  the  day 
was  wearing  away.  But  then,  as  Herljert 
changed  the  bandages,  more  by  the  light  of 
the  fire  than  by  the  outer  light,  he  went 
back  to  it  spontaneously. 

"I  sat  with  Provis  last  night,  Handel, 
two  good  hours." 

"  Where  was  Clara?" 

"  Dear  little  thing !"  said  Herbert.  "  She 
was  up  and  down  with  GrufFandgrim  all 
the  evening.  He  was  perpetually  pegging  at 
the  floor,  the  moment  she  left  his  sight.  I 
doubt  if  he  can  hold  out  long  though. 
What  with  rum  and  pepper — and  pepper 
and  rum — I  should  think  his  pegging  must 
be  nearly  over." 

"And  then  you  will  be  married,  Her- 
bert?" 

"  How  can  I  take  care  of  the  dear  child 
otherwise? — Lay  your  arm  out  upon  the 
back  of  the  sofa,  my  dear  bo}^,  and  I'll  sit 
down  here,  and  get  the  bandage  off  so  gra- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  173 

dually  that  you  shall  not  know  when  it 
comes.  I  was  speaking  of  Provis.  Do  you 
know,  Handel,  he  improves  ?" 

"  I  said  to  you  I  thought  he  was  softened 
when  I  last  saAv  him," 

"  So  you  did.  And  so  he  is.  He  was 
very  communicative  last  nio-ht,  and  told  me 
more  of  his  life.  You  remember  his  break- 
ing off  here  about  some  woman  that  he  had 
had  great  trouble  with. — Did  I  hurt  you  ?" 

I  had  started,  but  not  under  his  touch. 
His  words  had  given  me  a  start. 

"  I  had  forgotten  that,  Herbert,  but  I  re- 
member it  now  you  speak  of  it." 

"  Well !  He  went  into  that  part  of  his 
life,  and  a  dark  wild  part  it  is.  Shall  I  tell 
you?     Or  would  it  worry  you  just  now?" 

"  Tell  me  by  all  means.     Every  word." 

Herbert  bent  forward  to  look  at  me  more 
nearly,  as  if  my  reply  had  been  rather  more 
hurried  or  more  eager  than  he  could  quite 
account  for.  "  Your  head  is  cool?"  he  said, 
touching  it. 

"  Quite,"  said  I.  "  Tell  me  what  Provis 
said,  my  dear  Herbert." 

"  It  seems,"  said  Herbert,    "  — theres   a 


174  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

bandage  oif  most  cliaraiingly,  and  now 
comes  the  cool  one — ^makes  you  shrink  at 
first,  my  poor  dear  fellow,  don't  it  ?  but  it 
will  be  comfortable  presently — it  seems  that 
the  woman  was  a  young  woman,  and  a 
jealous  woman,  and  a  revengeful  woman  ; 
revengeful,  Handel,  to  the  last  degree." 

"  To  what  last  degree  ?" 

"  Murder, — Does  it  strike  too  cold  on 
that  sensitive  place  ?" 

"  I  don't  feel  it.  How  did  she  murder? 
Whom  did  she  murder  ?" 

"Why,  the  deed  may  not  have  merited 
quite  so  terrible  a  name,"  said  Herbert, 
"  but,  she  was  tried  for  it,  and  Mr.  Jaggers 
defended  her,  and  the  reputation  of  that 
defence  first  made  his  name  known  to 
Provis.  It  Avas  another  and  a  stronger 
woman  who  was  the  victim,  and  there  had 
been  a  struggle — in  a  barn.  Who  began 
it,  or  how  fair  it  was,  or  how  unfair,  may 
be  doubtful ;  but  how  it  ended,  is  certainly 
not  doubtful,  for  the  victim  was  found 
throttled." 

"  Was  the  woman  brought  in  guilty  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  175 

"  No ;    she    was    acquitted.  —  My    poor 
Handel,  I  hurt  you !" 

"  It  is  impossible  to  be  gentler,  Herbert. 
Yes?    What  else?" 

"  This  acquitted  young  woman  and  Pro- 
vis,"  said  Herbert,  "  had  a  httle  child :  a 
little  child  of  whom  Provis  was  exceedingly 
fond.  On  the  evening  of  the  very  night 
when  the  object  of  her  jealousy  was  stran- 
gled as  I  tell  you,  the  young  woman  pre- 
sented herself  before  Provis  for  one  moment, 
and  swore  that  she  would  destroy  the  child 
(which  was  in  her  possession),  and  he  should 
never  see  it  again ;  then,  she  vanished. — 
There's  the  worst  arm  comfortably  in  the 
sling  once  more,  and  now  there  remains  but 
the  right  hand,  which  is  a  far  easier  job.  I 
can  do  it  better  by  this  light  than  by  a 
stronger,  for  my  hand  is  steadiest  when  I 
don't  see  the  poor  blistered  patches  too  dis- 
tinctly.— You  don't  think  your  breathing  is 
affected,  my  dear  boy  ?  You  seem  to  breathe 
quickly." 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  Herbert.    Did  the  woman 
keep  her  oath  ?" 


176  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  There  comes  the  darkest  part  of  Pro- 
vis's  life.     She  did." 

"  That  is,  he  says  she  did." 

"  Why,  of  course,  my  dear  boy,"  returned 
Herbert,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  and  again 
bending  forward  to  get  a  nearer  look  at 
me.  "  He  says  it  all.  I  have  no  other  in- 
formation." 

"  No,  to  be  sure." 

"Now,  whether,"  pursued  Herbert,  "he 
had  used  the  cliild's  mother  ill,  or  whether 
he  had  used  the  child's  mother  well,  Provis 
doesn't  say ;  but,  she  had  shared  some  four 
or  five  j^ears  of  the  wretched  life  he  de- 
scribed to  us  at  this  fireside,  and  he  seems 
to  have  felt  pity  for  her,  and  forbearance 
towards  her.  Therefore,  fearing  he  should 
be  called  upon  to  depose  about  this  de- 
stroyed child,  and  so  be  the  cause  of  her 
death,  he  hid  himself  (much  as  he  grieved 
for  the  child),  kept  himself  dark,  as  he 
says,  out  of  the  way  and  out  of  the  trial, 
and  was  only  vaguely  talked  of  as  a  certain 
man  called  Abel,  out  of  Avhom  the  jealousy 
arose.     After  the  acquittal  she  disappeared. 


GREAT  EXPECTx\.TIONS.  177 

and  thus  lie  lost  the  child  and  the  child's 
mother." 

"  I  want  to  ask " 

"  A  moment,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Herbert, 
"  and  I  have  done.  That  evil  genius,  Com- 
peyson,  the  worst  of  scoundrels  among 
many  scoundrels,  knowing  of  his  keeping- 
out  of  the  way  at  that  time,  and  of  his 
reasons  for  doing  so,  of  course  afterwards 
held  the  knowledge  over  his  head  as  a 
means  of  keeping  him  poorer,  and  working 
him  harder.  It  was  clear  last  night  that 
this  barbed  the  point  of  Provis's  animosity." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  I,  "  and  particu- 
larly, Herbert,  whether  he  told  you  when 
this  happened?" 

"Particularly?  Let  me  remember,  then, 
what  he  said  as  to  that.  His  expression 
was,  '  a  round  score  o'  year  ago,  and  a'most 
directly  after  I  took  up  wi'  Compeyson.' 
How  old  were  you  when  you  came  upon 
him  in  the  little  churchyard  ?" 

"  I  think  in  my  seventh  year." 

"  Ay.  It  had  happened  some  three  or 
four  years  then,  he  said,   and  you  brought 

VOL.  III.  N 


178  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

into  bis  mind  the  little  girl  so  tragically 
lost,  who  would  have  been  about  your  age." 

"  Herbert,"  said  I,  after  a  short  silence, 
in  a  hurried  way,  "  can  you  see  me  best  by 
the  light  of  the  window,  or  the  light  of  the 
fire?" 

"  By  the  firelight,"  answered  Herbert, 
coming  close  again. 

"  Look  at  me." 

"I  do  look  at  you,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Touch  me." 

"  I  do  touch  you,  my  dear  bo}^" 

"  You  are  not  afraid  that  I  am  in  any 
fever,  or  that  iiij  head  is  much  disordered 
by  the  accident  of  last  night?" 

"  N-no,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Herbert,  after 
taking  time  to  examine  me.  "  You  are 
rather  excited,  but  you  are  quite  yourself." 

"  I  know  I  am  quite  myself.  And  the 
man  we  have  in  hiding  down  the  river,  is 
Estella's  Father." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  179 


CHAPTER  XIL 

What  purpose  I  had  in  view  when  I  was 
hot  on  tracing  out  and  pro^dng  Estella's 
parentage,  I  cannot  say.  It  will  presently 
be  seen  that  the  question  was  not  before  me 
in  a  distinct  shape,  until  it  was  put  before 
me  b}^  a  wiser  head  than  my  own. 

But,  when  Herbert  and  I  had  held  our 
momentous  conversation,  I  was  seized  with 
a  feverish  conviction  that  I  ought  to  hunt 
the  matter  do^^Ti — that  I  ought  not  to  let  it 
rest,  but  that  I  ought  to  see  ]\Ir.  Jaggers, 
and  come  at  the  bare  truth.  I  really  do 
not  know  whether  I  felt  that  I  did  this  for 
Estella's  sake,  or  whether  I  was  glad  to 
transfer  to  the  man  in  whose  preservation  I 
n2 


180  GREAT  EXrEGTATIOXS. 

was  SO  much  concerned,  some  rays  of  the 
romantic  interest  that  had  so  long  sur- 
rounded her.  Perhaps  the  latter  possibility- 
may  be  the  nearer  to  the  truth. 

Any  way,  I  could  scarcely  be  withheld 
from  going  out  to  Gerrard-street  that  night. 
Herbert's  representations  that  if  I  did,  I 
should  probably  be  laid  up  and  stricken 
useless,  Avhen  our  fugitive's  safety  Avould 
depend  upon  me,  alone  restrained  my  im- 
j)atience.  On  the  understanding,  again  and 
again  reiterated,  that  come  what  would,  I 
was  to  go  to  Mr.  Jaggers  to-morrow,  I  at 
length  submitted  to  keep  quiet,  and  to  have 
my  hurts  looked  after,  and  to  stay  at  home. 
Early  next  morning  Ave  went  out  together, 
and  at  the  corner  of  Giltspur-street  by 
Smithfield,  I  left  Herbert  to  go  his  way 
into  the  City,  and  took  my  way  to  Little 
Britain. 

There  were  periodical  occasions  when  Mr. 
Jaggers  and  Wemmick  went  over  the  office 
accounts,  and  checked  off  the  vouchers,  and 
put  all  things  straight.  On  those  occasions 
Wemmick  took  his  books  and  papers  into 
Mr.  Jaggers's  room,  and  one  of  the  up-stairs 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  181 

clerks  came  clown  into  the  outer  office. 
Finding  such  clerk  on  Wemmick's  post  that 
morning,  I  knew  what  was  going  on ;  but, 
I  was  not  sorry  to  have  Mr.  Jaggers  and 
Wemmick  together,  as  Wemmick  would 
then  hear  for  himself  that  I  said  nothing  to 
compromise  him. 

My  appearance  with  my  arm  bandaged 
and  my  coat  loose  over  my  shoulders, 
favoured  my  object.  Although  I  had  sent 
Mr.  Jao-o;ers  a  brief  account  of  the  accident 
as  soon  as  I  had  arrived  in  to"s\Ti,  yet  I  had 
to  give  him  all  the  details  now ;  and  the  spe- 
ciality of  the  occasion  caused  our  talk  to  be 
less  dry  and  hard,  and  less  strictly  regulated 
by  the  rules  of  evidence,  than  it  had  been 
before.  While  I  described  the  disaster,  Mr. 
Jaggers  stood,  according  to  his  wont,  before 
the  fire.  Wemmick  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
staring  at  me,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  his  trousers,  and  his  pen  put  horizontally 
into  the  post.  The  two  brutal  casts,  always 
inseparable  in  my  mind  from  the  official 
proceedings,  seemed  to  be  congestively  con- 
sidering whether  they  didn't  smell  fire  at  the 
present  moment. 


182  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

My  narrative  fiiiisliecl,  and  their  questions 
exhausted,  I  then  produced  Miss  Havisham's 
authority  to  receive  the  nine  hundred  pounds 
for  Herbert.  Mr.  J  aggers's  eyes  retired  a  Httle 
deeper  into  his  head  when  I  handed  him  the 
tablets,  but  he  presently  handed  them  over 
to  Wemmick,  with  instructions  to  draAv  the 
cheque  for  his  signature.  While  that  was  in 
course  of  being  done,  I  looked  on  at  Wem- 
mick as  he  -svrote,  and  Mr.  Jaggers,  poising 
and  swaying  himself  on  his  well-polished 
boots,  looked  on  at  me.  "  I  am  sorry,  Pip," 
said  he,  as  I  put  the  cheque  in  my  pocket, 
when  he  had  signed  it,  •'  that  we  do  nothing 
for  you."" 

"  Miss  Havisham  was  good  enough  to  ask 
me,"  I  returned,  "  whether  she  could  do  no- 
thing for  me,  and  I  told  her  No." 

"  Everybody  should  know  his  own  bu- 
siness," said  Mr.  Jaggers.  And  I  saw  Wem- 
mick's  lips  form  the  words  "portable  pro- 
perty." 

"  I  should  not  have  told  her  No,  if  I  had 
been  you,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers;  "but  eveiy 
man  ought  to  know  his  own  business  best." 

"  Every  man's  business,"  said  Wemmick, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  183 

ratlier  reproachfully  towards  me,  "  is  por- 
table property." 

As  I  thought  the  tune  was  now  come  for 
pursuing  the  theme  I  had  at  heart,  I  said, 
turning  on  Mr.  Jaggers  : 

"  I  did  ask  something  of  Miss  Havisham, 
however,  sir.  I  asked  her  to  give  me  some 
information  relative  to  her  adopted  daughter, 
and  she  gave  me  all  she  possessed." 

"  Did  she?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  bending 
forward  to  look  at  his  boots  and  then 
straightening  himself.  "  Hah  !  I  don't  think 
I  should  have  done  so,  if  I  had  been  Miss 
Havisham.  But  she  ought  to  know  her  own 
business  best." 

"  I  know  more  of  the  history  of  Miss  Ha- 
visham's  adopted  child,  than  Miss  Havisham 
herself  does,  sir,     I  know  her  mother." 

Mr.  Jaggers  looked  at  me  inquiringly, 
and  repeated  "  Mother?" 

"  I  have  seen  her  mother  within  these 
three  days." 

"  Yes?"  said  Mr.  Ja^-o-ers. 

"  And  so  have  you,  sir.  And  you  have 
seen  her  still  more  recently." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 


184  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Perhaps  I  knoAv  more  of  Estella's  his- 
tory than  even  you  do,"  said  I.  "  I  know 
her  father  too." 

A  certain  stop  that  Mr.  Jaggers  came  to 
in  his  manner — he  was  too  self-possessed  to 
change  his  manner,  but  he  could  not  help 
its  being  brought  to  an  indefinably  attentive 
stop — assured  me  that  he  did  not  know 
^\  lio  her  father  was.  This  I  had  strongly 
suspected  from  Provis's  account  (as  Herbert 
had  repeated  it)  of  his  having  kept  himself 
dark ;  which  I  pieced  on  to  the  fact  that  he 
himself  was  not  Mr.  Jao-o-ers's  client  until 
some  four  years  later,  and  when  he  could 
have  no  reason  for  claiming  his  identity. 
But,  I  could  not  be  sure  of  this  unconscious- 
ness on  Mr.  Jaggers's  part  before,  though  I 
was  quite  sure  of  it  now. 

"  So !  You  know  the  young  lady's  fother, 
Pip  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "  And  his  name  is 
Provis — from  Xew  South  Wales." 

Even  Mr.  Jao-orers  started  when  I  said 
those  words.  It  was  the  slightest  start  that 
could  escape  a  man,  the  most  carefully  re- 
pressed and  the  soonest  checked,  but  he  did 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  185 

start,  though  he  made  it  a  part  of  the  action 
of  taking  out  his  pocket-handkerchief.  How 
Wemmick  received  the  announcement  I  am 
unable  to  say,  for  I  was  afraid  to  look  at 
him  just  then,  lest  Mr.  Jaggers's  sharpness 
should  detect  that  there  had  been  some  com- 
munication unknoAvn  to  him  between  us. 

"  And  on  what  evidence,  Pip  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Jaggers,  very  coolly,  as  he  paused  with  his 
handkerchief  half  way  to  his  nose,  "  does 
Provis  make  this  claim  ?" 

"  He  does  not  make  it,"  said  I,  "  and  has 
never  made  it,  and  has  no  knowledge  or  be- 
lief that  his  daughter  is  in  existence." 

For  once,  the  powerful  pocket-hankerchief 
failed.  My  reply  was  so  unexpected  that  Mr. 
Jaggers  put  the  handkerchief  back  into  his 
pocket  without  completing  the  usual  per- 
formance, folded  his  arms,  and  looked  with 
stern  attention  at  me,  though  with  an  im- 
movable face. 

Then  I  told  him  all  I  knew,  and  how  I 
knew  it;  with  the  one  reservation  that  I 
left  him  to  infer  that  I  knew  from  Miss  Ha- 
visham  what  I  in  fact  knew  from  Wemmick. 
T  Avas  very  careful  indeed  as  to  that.     Nor, 


186  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

did  I  look  towards  Wemmick  until  I  had 
finished  all  I  had  to  tell,  and  had  been  for 
some  time  silently  meeting  Mr.  Jaggers's 
look.  When  I  did  at  last  turn  my  eyes  in 
Wemmick's  direction,  I  found  that  he  had 
unposted  his  pen,  and  was  intent  upon  the 
table  before  him. 

"  Hah !"  said  Mr.  daggers  at  last,  as  he 
moved  towards  the  papers  on  the  table. 
" — What  item  was  it  you  were  at,  Wem- 
mick, when  Mr.  Pip  came  in?" 

But  I  could  not  submit  to  be  thrown  off 
in  that  way,  and  I  made  a  passionate,  almost 
an  indignant,  appeal  to  him  to  be  more 
frank  and  manly  with  me.  I  reminded  him 
of  the  false  hopes  into  which  I  had  lapsed, 
the  length  of  time  they  had  lasted,  and  the 
discovery  I  had  made  :  and  I  hinted  at  the 
danger  that  weighed  upon  my  spirits.  I 
represented  myself  as  being  surely  worthy 
of  some  little  confidence  from  him,  in  return 
for  the  confidence  I  had  just  now  imparted. 
I  said  that  I  did  not  blame  him,  or  suspect 
him,  or  mistrust  him,  but  I  wanted  assur- 
ance of  the  truth  from  him.      And  if  he 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  187 

asked  me  why  I  wanted  it  and  wliy  I 
thought  I  had  any  right  to  it,  I  would  tell 
him,  little  as  he  cared  for  such  poor  dreams, 
that  I  had  loved  Estella  dearly  and  long, 
and  that,  although  I  had  lost  her  and  must 
live  a  bereaved  life,  whatever  concerned  her 
was  still  nearer  and  dearer  to  me  than  any- 
thing: else  in  the  world.  And  seeino-  that 
Mr.  Jaggers  stood  quite  still  and  silent,  and 
apparently  quite  obdurate,  under  this  ap- 
peal, I  turned  to  Wenimick,  and  said, 
"  TVemmick,  I  know  you  to  be  a  man  ^^ith 
a  gentle  heart.  I  have  seen  your  pleasant 
home,  and  your  old  father,  and  all  the  in- 
nocent cheerful  playful  ways  with  which 
you  refresh  your  business  life.  And  I  en- 
treat you  to  say  a  word  for  ine  to  Mr.  Jag- 
gers, and  to  represent  to  him  that,  all  cir- 
cumstances considered,  he  ought  to  be  more 
open  with  me !" 

I  have  never  seen  two  men  look  more 
oddly  at  one  another  than  Mr.  Jaggers  and 
"VVemmick  did  after  this  apostrophe.  At 
first,  a  miso;ivino;  crossed  me  that  AVemmick 
would  be  instantly  dismissed  from  his  em- 


188  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS, 

plo}Tiiciit ;  but,  it  melted  as  I  saw  Mr.  Jag- 
gers  relax  into  something  like  a  smile,  and 
"Wemmick  become  bolder. 

"  What's  all  this  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 
"You  with  an  old  father,  and  you  with 
pleasant  and  playful  ways  ?" 

"Well!"  returned  Wemmick.  "If  I 
don't  bring  'em  here,  what  does  it  matter  ?" 

"  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  laying  his  hand 
upon  my  arm,  and  smiling  openly,  "  this 
man  must  be  the  most  cunning  impostor  in 
all  London." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  AYemmick, 
growing  bolder  and  bolder.  "  I  think 
you're  another." 

Ao'ain  thev  exchano-ed  their  former  odd 
looks,  each  apparently  still  distrustful  that 
the  other  was  taking  him  in. 

"  You  Avith  a  pleasant  home?"  said  Mr. 
Jaggers. 

"  Since  it  don't  interfere  with  business," 
returned  Wemmick,  "  let  it  be  so.  Now,  I 
look  at  you,  sir,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you 
might  be  planning  and  contriving  to  have  a 
pleasant  home  of  your  own,  one  of  these 
days,  when  you're  tired  of  all  this  work." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  189 

Mr.  Jaggers  nodded  liis  head  retrospec- 
tively two  or  three  times,  and  actually  drew 
a  sigh.  "  Pip,"  said  he,  "  we  won't  talk 
about  '  poor  dreams ;'  jou  know  more  about 
such  things  than  I,  having  much  fresher  ex- 
perience of  that  kind.  But  now,  about  this 
other  matter.  I'U  put  a  case  to  you.  Mind  ! 
I  admit  nothing." 

He  waited  for  me  to  declare  that  I  quite 
understood  that  he  expressly  said  that  he 
admitted  nothing. 

"Now,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "put  this 
case.  Put  the  case  that  a  woman,  under 
such  circumstances  as  you  have  mentioned, 
held  her  child  concealed,  and  was  obhged  to 
communicate  the  fact  to  her  legal  adviser, 
on  his  representing  to  her  that  he  must 
know,  with  an  eye  to  the  latitude  of  his  de- 
fence, how  the  fact  stood  about  that  child. 
Put  the  case  that  at  the  same  time  he  held 
a  trust  to  find  a  child  for  an  eccentric  rich 
lady  to  adopt  and  bring  up." 

*'  I  follow  you,  sir." 

"  Put  the  case  that  he  lived  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  evil,  and  that  all  he  saw  of  children, 
was,  their  being  generated  in  great  numbers 


190  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

for  certain  destruction.  Put  the  case  that 
he  often  saw  children  solemnly  tried  at  a 
criminal  bar,  where  they  were  held  up  to  be 
seen  ;  put  the  case  that  he  habitually  knew 
of  their  being  imprisoned,  whipped,  trans- 
ported, neglected,  cast  out,  qualified  in  all 
ways  for  the  hangman,  and  gro\^ang  up  to 
be  hanged.  Put  the  case  that  pretty  nigh 
all  the  children  he  saw  in  his  daily  business 
life,  he  had  reason  to  look  upon  as  so  much 
spawn,  to  develop  into  the  fish  that  were  to 
come  to  his  net — to  be  prosecuted,  defended, 
forsworn,  made  orphans,  be-de^dlled  some- 
how." 

"  I  follow  you,  sir." 

"  Put  the  case,  Pip,  that  here  was  one 
pretty  little  child  out  of  the  heap,  who  could 
be  saved ;  whom  the  father  believed  dead, 
and  dared  make  no  stir  about ;  as  to  whom, 
over  the  mother,  the  legal  adviser  had  this 
poAver :  '  I  know  what  you  did,  and  how 
you  did  it.  You  came  so  and  so,  this  was 
your  manner  of  attack  and  this  the  manner 
of  resistance,  you  went  so  and  so,  you  did 
such  and  such  things  to  divert  suspicion.  I 
have  tracked  you  through  it  all,  and  I  tell 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  191 

it  you  all.  Part  with  the  child,  unless  it 
should  be  necessary  to  produce  it  to  clear 
you,  and  then  it  shall  be  produced.  Give 
the  child  into  my  hands,  and  I  will  do  my 
best  to  bring  you  off.  If  you  are  saved, 
your  child  is  saved  too  ;  if  you  are  lost, 
your  child  is  still  saved.'  Put  the  case 
that  this  was  done,  and  that  the  woman 
was  cleared." 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly." 
"  But  that  I  make  no  admissions  ?" 
"  That  you  make  no  admissions."     And 
Wemmick  repeated,  "  Xo  admissions." 

"  Put  the  case,  Pip,  that  passion  and  the 
terror  of  death  had  a  Uttle  shaken  the 
woman's  intellects,  and  that  when  she  was 
set  at  liberty,  she  was  scared  out  of  the 
ways  of  the  world  and  went  to  him  to  be 
sheltered.  Put  the  case  that  he  took  her  in, 
and  that  he  kept  down  the  old  mid  violent 
nature  whenever  he  saw  an  inkling  of  its 
breaking  out,  by  asserting  his  power  over 
her  in  the  old  way.  Do  you  comprehend 
the  imaginary  case?" 
"  Quite." 
"  Put  the  case  that  the  child   grew  up, 


192  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  was  married  for  money.  That  the  mo- 
ther was  still  living.  That  the  father  was 
still  living.  That  the  mother  and  father 
unknown  to  one  another,  were  dwelling 
within  so  manj^  miles,  furlongs,  yards  if  you 
like,  of  one  another.  That  the  secret  was 
still  a  secret,  except  that  you  had  got  wind 
of  it.  Put  that  last  case  to  yourself  very 
carefully." 

"  I  do." 

"  I  ask  Weinmick  to  put  it  to  himselt  very 
carefully." 

And  Wemmick  said,  "  I  do." 

"  For  whose  sake  would  you  reveal  the 
secret  ?  For  the  father's  ?  I  think  he  Avould 
not  be  much  the  better  for  the  mother.  For 
the  mother's  ?  I  think  if  she  had  done  such 
a  deed  she  would  be  safer  where  she  was. 
For  the  daughter's  ?  I  think  it  would  hardly 
serve  her,  to  establish  her  parentage  for  the 
information  of  her  husband,  and  to  drag  her 
back  to  disgrace,  after  an  escape  of  twenty 
years,  pretty  secure  to  last  for  life.  But,  add 
the  case  that  you  had  loved  her,  Pip,  and 
had  made  her  the  subject  of  those  'poor 
dreams'  which  have,  at  one  time  or  another. 


GREAT  EXrECTATIONS.  193 

been  in  the  heads  of  more  men  than  )^ou 
think  likely,  then  I  tell  you  that  you  had 
better — and  would  much  sooner  when  you 
had  thought  well  of  it — chop  off  that  ban- 
daged left  hand  of  yours  with  your  ban- 
daged right  hand,  and  then  pass  the  chopper 
on  to  Wemmick  there,  to  cut  that  oiF,  too." 

I  looked  at  Wemmick,  whose  face  was 
very  grave.  He  gravely  touched  his  lips 
with  his  forefino;er.  I  did  the  same.  Mr. 
Jaggers  did  the  same.  "  Now,  Wemmick," 
said  the  latter  then,  resuming  his  usual  man- 
ner, "  what  item  was  it  you  were  at,  when 
Mr.  Pip  came  in?" 

Standing  by  for  a  little,  while  they  were 
at  work,  I  observed  that  the  odd  looks  they 
had  cast  at  one  another  were  repeated  se- 
veral times :  with  this  diiference  now,  that 
each  of  them  seemed  suspicious,  not  to  say 
conscious,  of  havin"*  shown  himself  in  a 
weak  and  unprofessional  light  to  the  other. 
For  this  reason,  I  suppose,  they  were  now 
nflexible   with  one   another;    Mr.  Jao-ocrs 

'  (DO 

being  highly  dictatorial,  and  Wemmick  ob- 
stinately justifying  himself  whenever  there 
was  the  smallest  point   in  abeyance  for  a 

VOL.  III.  0 


]  94  Gil  EAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

moment.  I  had  never  seen  them  on  such 
ill  terms;  for  generally  they  got  on  very 
well  indeed  together. 

But,  they  were  both  happily  relieved  by 
the  opportune  apearance  of  ]\Iike,  the  client 
with  the  fur  cap  and  the  habit  of  wiping  his 
nose  on  his  sleeve,  whom  I  had  seen  on  the 
very  first  day  of  my  appearance  within  those 
walls.  This  individual,  who,  either  in  his 
own  person  or  in  that  of  some  member  of 
his  family,  seemed  to  be  ahvays  in  trouble 
(which  in  that  place  meant  Newgate),  called 
to  announce  that  his  eldest  daughter  was 
taken  np  on  suspicion  of  shoplifting.  As 
he  imparted  this  melancholy  circumstance 
to  Wemmick,  Mr.  daggers  standing  magis- 
terially before  the  fire  and  taking  no  share 
in  the  proceedings,  Mike's  eye  happened  to 
twinkle  with  a  tear. 

"What  are  you  about?"  demanded  Wem- 
mick, with  the  utmost  indignation.  "  What 
do  you  come  snivelling  here  for  ?" 

''  I  did't  go  to  do  it,  Mr.  Wemmick." 

"  You  did,"  said  Wemmick.  "  How  dare 
you  ?   You're  not  in  a  fit  state  to  come  here, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  195 

if  you  can't  come  here  without  spluttering 
like  a  bad  pen.    What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?" 

"  A  man  can't  help  his  feelings,  Mr.  Wem- 
mick,"  pleaded  Mike. 

"  His  what  ?"  demanded  Wemmick,  quite 
savagely.     "  Say  that  again  !" 

"  Now,  look  here  my  man,"  said  Mr.  Jag- 
gers,  advancing  a  step,  and  pointing  to  the 
door.  "  Get  out  of  this  office.  I'll  have  no 
feelings  here.     Get  out." 

"  It  serves  you  right,"  said  Wemmick. 
"  Get  out." 

So  the ,  unfortunate  Mike  very  humbly 
withdrew,  and  Mr.  Jasfofers  and  Wemmick 

7  CO 

appeared  to  have  re-established  their  good 
understanding,  and  went  to  work  again  with 
an  air  of  refreshment  upon  them  as  if  they 
had  just  had  lunch. 


02 


196  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

From  Little  Britain,  I  went,  with  my 
cheque  in  my  pocket,  to  Miss  Skiffins's  bro- 
ther, the  accountant ;  and  Miss  Skiffins's  bro- 
ther, the  accountant,  going  straight  to  Clar- 
riker's  and  bringing  Clarriker  to  me,  I  had 
the  great  satisfaction  of  concluding  that 
arrangement.  It  was  the  only  good  thing  I 
had  done,  and  the  only  completed  thing  I 
had  done,  since  I  was  hrst  apprised  of  my 
great  expectations. 

Clarriker  informino:  me  on  that  occasion 
that  the  affairs  of  the  House  were  steadily 
progressing,  that  he  would  now  be  able  to 
establish  a  small  branch-house  in  the  East 
wliich  was  much  wanted  for  the  extension 


GREAT  EXPECTATIOJJS.  197 

of  the  business,  and  that  Herbert  in  his  new 
pdrtnership  capacity  would  go  out  and  take 
charge  of  it,  I  found  that  I  must  have  pre- 
pared for  a  separation  from  my  friend,  even 
though  my  own  affairs  had  been  more 
settled.  And  now  indeed  I  felt  as  if  my 
last  anchor  were  loosening  its  hold,  and  I 
should  soon  be  driving  with  the  winds  and 
waves. 

But,  there  was  recompense  in  the  j  03"  with 
which  Herbert  would  come  home  of  a  night 
and  tell  me  of  these  changes,  little  imagining 
that  he  told  me  no  news,  and^vould  sketch  airy 
pictures  of  himself  conducting  Clara  Barley 
to  the  land  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  and  of 
me  going  out  to  join  them  (with  a  caravan 
of  camels,  I  believe),  and  of  our  all  going 
up  the  Nile  and  seeing  wonders.  Without 
being  sanguine  as  to  my  own  part  in  these 
bright  plans,  I  felt  that  Herbert's  way  was 
clearing  fast,  and  that  old  Bill  Barley  had 
but  to  stick  to  his  pepper  and  rum,  and  his 
daughter  would  soon  be  happily  provided 
for. 

We  had  now  got  into  the  month  of  IMarch. 
My  left   arm,  though  it  presented  no  bad 


198  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

symptoms,  took  in  the  natural  course  so  long 
to  heal  that  I  was  still  unable  to  get  a  c6at 
on.  ]\Iy  right  arm  was  toleraljly  restored ; 
— disfigured,  but  fairly  serviceable. 

On  a  Monday-  mornino;,  when  Herbert 
and  I  were  at  breakfast,  I  received  the  fol- 
lowing letter  from  AVemmick  by  the  post. 

"  Walworth.  Burn  this  as  soon  as  read.  Early 
in  the  week,  or  say  Wednesday,  you  might  do  what 
you  know  of,  if  you  felt  chsposed  to  try  it.  Now 
burn." 

When  I  had  shown  this  to  Herbert  and 
had  put  it  in  the  fire — but  not  before  we 
had  both  got  it  by  heart — we  considered 
what  to  do.  For,  of  course  my  l^einoj 
disabled  could  now  ])e  no  longer  kept  out 
of  view. 

"  I  have  thought  it  over,  again  and  again," 
said  Herbert,  "  and  I  think  I  know  a  better 
course  than  taking  a  Thames  watennan. 
Take  Startop.  A  good  fellow,  a  skilled 
hand,  fond  of  us,  and  enthusiastic  and 
honourable."' 

I  had  thought  of  him,  more  than  once. 

"  But  how  much  would  you  tell  him, 
Herbert  ?"' 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  199 

"  It  is  necessary  to  tell  him  very  little. 
Let  him  suppose  it  a  mere  freak,  but  a  secret 
one,  until  the  morning  comes  :  then  let  him 
know  that  there  is  ursient  reason  for  your 
ffettincT  Pro  vis  aboard  and  awav.  You  '2fo 
with  him  ?" 

"No  doubt." 

"Where?" 

It  had  seemed  to  me,  in  the  many  anxious 
considerations  I  had  given  the  point,  almost 
inditferent  what  port  we  made  for — Ham- 
burg, Rotterdam,  Antwerp — the  place  sig- 
nified little,  so  that  he  was  got  out  of  Eng- 
land. Any  foreign  steamer  that  fell  in  our 
way  and  would  take  us  up,  would  do.  I 
had  always  proposed  to  myself  to  get  him 
well  do"\Ani  the  river  in  the  boat :  certainly 
well  beyond  Gravesend,  which  was  a  criti- 
cal place  for  search  or  inquiry  if  suspicion 
were  afoot.  As  foreign  steamers  would  leave 
London  at  about  the  time  of  high-water, 
our  plan  would  be  to  get  do^\Ti  the  river  by 
a  previous  ebb-tide,  and  lie  by  in  some  quiet 
spot  until  we  could  pull  off  to  one.  The 
time  when  one  would  be  due  where  we  lav, 
wherever  that  might  l)e,  could  be  calculated 


200  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

pretty  ncarl}'^,  if  we  made  inquiries  before- 
hand. 

Herbert  assented  to  all  this,  and  we  went 
out  immediately  after  breakfast  to  pursue 
our  investigations.  We  found  that  a  steamer 
for  Hamburg  was  likely  to  suit  our  purpose 
best,  and  we  directed  our  thoughts  chiefly 
to  that  vessel.  But  we  noted  down  what 
other  foreign  steamers  would  leave  London 
with  the  same  tide,  and  we  satisfied  our- 
selves that  we  knew  the  build  and  colour  of 
each.  We  then  separated  for  a  few  hours ; 
I,  to  get  at  once  such  passports  as  were 
necessary ;  Herbert,  to  see  Startop  at  his 
lodo-ino-s.  We  both  did  what  we  had  to  do 
without  any  hindrance,  and  when  we  met 
again  at  one  o'clock  reported  it  done.  I, 
for  my  part,  was  prepared  with  passports  ; 
Herbert  had  seen  Startop,  and  he  was  more 
than  ready  to  join. 

Those  two  should  pull  a  pair  of  oars,  we 
settled,  and  I  would  steer ;  our  charge  would 
be  sitter,  and  keep  quiet ;  as  speed  was  not 
our  object,  Ave  should  make  way  enough. 
We  arranged  that  Herbert  should  not  come 
home  to  dinner  before  going  to  Mill  Pond 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  201 

Bank  that  evening ;  that  he  should  not  go 
there  at  all,  to-morroAV  evenmg,  Tuesday; 
that  he  should  prepare  Provis  to  come  down 
to  some  Stairs  hard  by  the  house,  on  Wed- 
nesday, when  he  saAV  us  approach,  and  not 
sooner;  that  all  the  arrangements  with  him 
should  be  concluded  that  Monday  night ; 
and  that  he  should  be  communicated  with 
no  more  in  any  way,  until  we  took  him  on 
board. 

These  precautions  well  understood  by 
both  of  us,  I  went  home. 

On  opening  the  outer  door  of  our  cham- 
bers with  my  key,  I  found  a  letter  in  the 
box,  directed  to  me;  a  very  dirty  letter, 
though  not  ill-written.  It  had  been  deli- 
vered by  hand  (of  course  since  I  left  home), 
and  its  contents  were  these  : 

"  If  you  are  not  afraid  to  come  to  the  old  marshes 
to-night  or  to-morrow  night  at  Nine,  and  to  come 
to  the  little  sluice-house  by  the  limekihi,  you  had 
better  come.  If  you  want  information  regarding 
your  uncle  Provis,  you  had  much  better  come  and 
tell  no  one  and  lose  no  time.  You  must  come  alone. 
Bring  this  with  you." 

I  had  had  load  enough  upon  my  mind 


202  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

before  the  receipt  of  this  strange  letter. 
What  to  do  now,  I  could  not  tell.  And  the 
worst  was,  that  I  must  decide  quickly,  or  I 
should  miss  the  afternoon  coach,  which 
would  take  me  down  in  time  for  to-night. 
To-morrow  night  I  could  not  think  of 
going,  for  it  would  be  too  close  upon  the 
time  of  the  flight.  And  again,  for  anything 
I  knew,  the  proffered  information  might 
have  some  important  bearing  on  the  flight 
itself. 

If  I  had  had  ample  time  for  consideration, 
I  believe  I  should  still  have  i2:one.  Ha^^ni? 
hardly  any  time  for  consideration — my 
watch  showing  me  that  the  coach  started 
within  half  an  hour — I  resolved  to  go.  I 
should  certainly  not  have  gone,  but  for  the 
reference  to  my  Uncle  Provis  ;  that,  coming 
on  AVemmick's  letter  and  the  morning's 
busy  preparation,  turned  the  scale. 

It  is  so  diflicult  to  become  clearly  pos- 
sessed of  the  contents  of  almost  any  letter, 
in  a  violent  hurry,  that  I  had  to  read  this 
mysterious  epistle  again,  twice,  before  its 
injunction  to  me  to  be  secret  got  mecha- 
nically into  my  mind.    Yielding  to  it  in  *Ui\ 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  203 

same  mechanical  kind  of  way,  I  left  a  note 
in  pencil  for  Herbert,  telling  him  that  as  I 
should  be  so  soon  o-oing;  awav,  I  knew  not 
for  how  long,  I  had  decided  to  hurry  down 
and  back,  to  ascertain  for  myself  how  Miss 
Havisham  was  farinii.  I  had  then  barelv 
time  to  get  my  great-coat,  lock  up  the 
chambers,  and  make  for  the  coach-office  by 
the  short  by-ways.  If  I  had  taken  a 
hackney- chariot  and  gone  by  the  streets,  I 
should  have  missed  my  aim ;  going  as  I 
did,  I  caught  the  coach  just  as  it  came  out 
of  the  yard.  I  was  the  only  inside  pas- 
senger, jolting  away  knee-deep  in  straw, 
when  I  came  to  myself. 

For,  I  really  had  not  been  myself  since 
the  receipt  of  the  letter;  it  had  so  bewil- 
dered me  ensuing  on  the  hurry  of  the 
morning.  The  morning  hurry  and  flutter 
had  been  gi'eat,  for,  long  and  anxiously 
as  I  had  waited  for  Wemmick,  his  hint  had 
come  like  a  surprise  at  last.  And  now,  I 
began  to  wonder  at  mj^self  for  being  in  the 
coach,  and  to  doubt  whether  I  had  sufficient 
reason  for  being  there,  and  to  consider  whe- 
ther I  should  get  out  presently  and  go  back, 


204  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  to  ar";ue  ao-aiiist  ever  lieedinfr  an  ano- 
nymous  communication,  and,  in  short,  to 
pass  through  all  those  phases  of  contradic- 
tion and  indecision  to  which  I  suppose  very 
few  hurried  people  are  strangers.  Still,  the 
reference  to  Provis  by  name,  mastered 
everything.  I  reasoned  as  I  had  reasoned 
already  without  knowing  it — if  that  be  rea- 
soning— in  case  any  harm  should  befal  him 
through  my  not  going,  how  could  I  ever 
forgive  myself ! 

It  was  dark  before  we  got  down,  and  the 
journey  seemed  long  and  dreary  to  me  who 
could  see  little  of  it  inside,  and  who  could 
not  go  outside  in  my  disabled  state.  Avoid- 
ing the  Blue  Boar,  I  put  up  at  an  inn 
of  minor  reputation  down  the  town,  and 
ordered  some  dinner.  While  it  was  pre- 
paring, I  went  to  Satis  House  and  inquired 
for  Miss  Havisham ;  she  was  still  very  ill, 
though  considered  something  better. 

My  inn  had  once  been  a  part  of  an  ancient 
ecclesiastical  house,  and  I  dined  in  a  little 
octagonal  common-room,  like  a  font.  As  I 
was  not  able  to  cut  my  dinner,  the  old 
landlord  with  a  shining  bald  head  did  it  for 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  205 

me.  This  bringing  us  into  conversation,  he 
was  so  good  as  to  entertain  me  with  my 
own  story — of  course  with  the  popular  fea- 
ture that  Pumblechook  was  my  earliest 
benefactor  and  the  founder  of  my  fortunes. 

"  Do  you  know  the  young  man?"  said  I. 

"  Know  him !"  repeated  the  landlord. 
"  Ever  since  he  was — no  height  at  all." 

"  Does  he  ever  come  back  to  this  neigh- 
bourhood?" 

"  Ay,  he  comes  back,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  to  his  great  friends,  now  and  again,  and 
gives  the  cold  shoulder  to  the  man  that 
made  him." 

"  What  man  is  that  ?" 

"  Him  that  I  speak  of,"  said  the  landlord. 
"Mr.  Pumblechook." 

"  Is  he  ungrateful  to  no  one  else  ?" 

"  No  doubt  he  would  be,  if  he  could,"  re- 
turned the  landlord,  "but  he  can't.  And 
why?  Because  Pumblechook  done  every- 
thing for  him." 

"  Does  Pumblechook  say  so?" 

"  Say  so  !"  replied  the  landlord.  "  He 
han't  no  call  to  say  so." 

"  But  does  he  say  so?" 


206  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  It  would  turn  a  inun's  blood  to  white 
wine  winegar  to  hear  him  tell  of  it,  sir," 
said  the  landlord. 

I  thought,  "  Yet  Joe,  dear  Joe,  you  never 
tell  of  it.  Long-suffering  and  loving  Joe, 
you  never  complain.  Nor  you,  sweet-tem- 
pered Biddy!" 

"  Your  appetite's  been  touched  like,  by 
your  accident,"  said  the  landlord,  glancing 
at  the  bandaged  arm  under  my  coat.  "  Try 
a  tenderer  bit." 

"  No  thank  you,"  I  replied,  turning  from 
the  table  to  brood  over  the  fire.  "  I  can  eat 
no  more.     Please  take  it  away." 

I  had  never  been  struck  at  so  keenly,  for 
my  thanklessness  to  Joe,  as  through  the 
brazen  impostor  Pumblechook.  The  falser 
he,  the  truer  Joe  ;  the  meaner  he,  the  nobler 
Joe. 

My  heart  was  deeply  and  most  deservedly 
humbled  as  I  mused  over  the  fire  for  an 
hour  or  more.  The  striking  of  the  clock 
aroused  me,  but  not  from  my  dejection  or 
remorse,  and  I  got  up  and  had  my  coat 
fastened  round  my  neck,  and  went  out.  I 
had  previously  sought  in  my  pockets  for 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  207 

the  letter,  that  I  might  refer  to  it  again,  but 
I  could  not  find  it,  and  was  uneasy  to  think 
that  it  must  have  been  dropped  in  the  straw 
of  the  coach.  I  knew  very  well,  however, 
that  the  appointed  place  was  the  little  sluice- 
house  by  the  limekiln  on  the  marshes,  and 
the  hour  nine.  Towards  the  marshes  I  now 
went  straight,  having  no  time  to  spare. 


208  GREAT  EXPECTATIOXS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  though  the  full  moon 
rose  as  I  left  the  enclosed  lands,  and  passed 
out  upon  the  marshes.  Beyond  their  dark 
line  there  was  a  ribbon  of  clear  sky,  hardly 
broad  enough  to  hold  the  red  large  moon. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  had  ascended  out  of 
that  clear  field,  in  among  the  piled  moun- 
tains of  cloud. 

There  was  a  melancholy  wind,  and  the 
marshes  were  very  dismal.  A  stranger  would 
have  found  them  insupportable,  and  even  to 
me  they  were  so  oppressive  that  I  hesitated, 
half  inclined  to  go  back.  But,  I  knew  them 
well,  and  could  have  found  my  way  on  a  far 
darker  nio-ht,  and  had  no  excuse  for  return- 


CHEAT  EXPECTATIOiNS.  209 

ing,  being  there.  So,  having  come  there 
against  my  inclination,  I  went  on  against  it. 

The  direction  that  I  took,  was  not  that  in 
which  my  old  home  lay,  nor  that  in  which 
we  had  pursued  the  convicts.  My  back  was 
turned  towards  the  distant  Hulks  as  I  walked 
on,  and,  though  I  could  see  the  old  lights 
away  on  the  spits  of  sand,  I  saw  them  over 
my  shoulder.  I  knew  the  limekiln  as  well 
as  I  kneAv  the  old  Battery,  but  they  were 
miles  apart;  so  that  if  a  light  had  been 
burning  at  each  point  that  night,  there 
Avould  have  been  a  long  strip  of  the  blank 
horizon  between  the  two  bright  specks. 

At  first,  I  had  to  shut  some  gates  after 
me,  and  now  and  then  to  stand  still  while 
the  cattle  that  were  lying  in  the  banked-up 
pathway,  arose  and  blundered  down  among 
the  grass  and  reeds.  But  after  a  little  while, 
I  seemed  to  have  the  whole  flats  to  myself. 

It  was  another  half-hour  before  I  drew 
near  to  the  kiln.     The  lime  was  burnino- 

o 

with  a  sluggish  stifling  smell,  but  the  fires 
were  made  up  and  left,  and  no  workmen 
were  visible.  Hard  by,  was  a  small  stone- 
quarry.  It  lay  directly  in  my  way,  and  had 
VOL.  III.  p 


210  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

been  worked  that  day,  as  I  saw  by  the  tools 
and  barrows  that  were  lying  about. 

Coming  up  again  to  the  marsh  level  out 
of  this  excavation — for  the  rude  path  lay 
through  it — I  saw  a  light  in  the  old  sluice- 
house.  I  quickened  my  pace,  and  knocked 
at  the  door  with  my  hand.  Waiting  for 
some  reply,  I  looked  about  me,  noticing 
how  the  sluice  was  abandoned  and  broken, 
and  how  the  house — of  wood  -with  a  tiled 
roof — would  not  be  proof  against  the  wea- 
ther much  longer,  if  it  were  so  even  now, 
and  how  the  mud  and  ooze  were  coated  with 
lime,  and  how  the  choking  vapour  of  the 
kiln  crept  in  a  ghostly  way  towards  me. 
Still  there  was  no  answer,  and  I  knocked 
again.  No  answer  still,  and  I  tried  the 
latch. 

It  rose  under  my  hand,  and  the  door 
yielded.  Looking  in,  I  saw  a  lighted  candle 
on  a  table,  a  bench,  and  a  mattress  on  a 
truckle  bedstead.  As  there  was  a  loft  above, 
I  called,  "Is  there  any  one  here?"  but  no 
voice  answered.  Then,  I  looked  at  my  watch, 
and,  finding  that  it  was  past  nine,  called 
again,   "  Is   there  any  one   here?"     There^ 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  211 

being  still  no  answer,  I  went  out  at  the 
door,  irresolute  what  to  do. 

It  was  beginning  to  rain  fast.  Seeing  no- 
thing save  what  I  had  seen  already,  I  turned 
back  into  the  house,  and  stood  just  within 
the  shelter  of  the  doorway,  looking  out  into 
the  night.  While  I  was  considering  that 
some  one  must  have  been  there  lately  and 
must  soon  be  coining  back,  or  the  candle 
would  not  be  burning,  it  came  into  my  head 
to  look  if  the  wick  were  long.  I  turned 
round  to  do  so,  and  had  taken  up  the  candle 
in  my  hand,  when  it  w^as  extinguished  by 
some  violent  shock,  and  the  next  thing  I 
comprehended,  was,  that  I  had  been  caught 
in  a  strong  running  noose,  thrown  over  my 
head  from  behind. 

"  Now,"  said  a  suppressed  voice  with  an 
oath,  "  I've  got  you !" 

"What  is  this  ?"  I  cried,  struggling.  "Who 
is  it?     Help,  help,  help!" 

Xot  only  were  my  arms  pulled  close  to  my 
sides,  but  the  pressure  on  my  bad  arm  caused 
me  exquisite  pain.  Sometimes,  a  strong  man's 
hand,  sometimes  a  sti'ong  man's  breast,  was 
set  against  my  mouth  to  deaden  my  cries, 
p2 


212  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  "with  a  hot  breath  always  close  to  me,  I 
struggled  ineiFectually  in  the  dark,  while  I 
was  fastened  tight  to  the  wall.  "  And  now," 
said  the  suppressed  voice  with  another  oath, 
"  call  out  again,  and  I'll  make  short  work 
of  you !" 

Faint  and  sick  with  the  pain  of  my  injured 
arm,  bewildered  by  the  surprise,  and  yet 
conscious  how  easily  this  threat  could  be  put 
in  execution,  I  desisted,  and  tried  to  ease  my 
arm  were  it  ever  so  little.  But,  it  was  bound 
too  tight  for  that.  I  felt  as  if,  having  been 
burnt  before,  it  were  now  being  boiled. 

The  sudden  exclusion  of  the  night  and  the 
substitution  of  black  darkness  in  its  place, 
warned  me  that  the  man  had  closed  a  shutter. 
After  groping  about  for  a  little,  he  found  the 
flint  and  steel  he  wanted,  and  began  to  strike 
a  light.  I  strained  my  sight  upon  the  sparks 
that  fell  among  the  tinder,  and  upon  which 
he  breathed  and  breathed,  match  in  hand, 
but  I  could  onl}^  see  his  lips,  and  the  blue 
point  of  the  match ;  even  those,  but  fitfully. 
The  tinder  Avas  damp — no  wonder  there — 
and  one  after  another  the  sparks  died  out. 

The  man  was  in   no  hurrv,  and  struck 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Zl6 

again  with  the  flint  and  steel.  As  the  sparks 
fell  thick  and  bright  about  him,  I  could  see 
his  hands,  and  touches  of  his  face,  and  could 
make  out  that  he  was  seated  and  bending 
over  the  table ;  but  nothing  more.  Presently 
I  saw  his  blue  lips  again,  breathing  on  the 
tinder,  and  then  a  flare  of  light  flashed  up, 
and  showed  me  Orlick. 

Whom  I  had  looked  for,  I  don't  know.  I 
had  not  looked  for  him.  Seeing  him,  I  felt 
that  I  was  in  a  dangerous  strait  indeed,  and 
I  kept  my  eyes  upon  him. 

He  lighted  the  candle  from  the  flaring 
match  with  great  deliberation,  and  dropped 
the  match,  and  trod  it  out.  Then,  he  put 
the  candle  away  from  him  on  the  table,  so 
that  he  could  see  me,  and  sat  with  his  arms 
folded  on  the  table  and  looked  at  me.  I 
made  out  that  I  was  fastened  to  a  stout  per- 
pendicular ladder  a  few  inches  from  the 
wall — a  flxture  there — the  means  of  ascent 
to  the  loft  above. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  when  we  had  surveyed 
one  another  for  some  time,  "  I've  got  you." 

"  Unbind  me.     Let  me  go  !" 

"Ah!"    he  returned,   "/'ll  let  you  go. 


214  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I'll  let  you  go  to  the  moon,  I'll  let  you  go 
to  the  stars.     AU  in  good  time." 

"  Why  have  you  lured  me  here  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know?"  said  he,  with  a 
deadl}^  look. 

"  Why  have  you  set  upon  me  in  the 
dark?" 

"  Because  I  mean  to  do  it  all  myself.  One 
keeps  a  secret  better  than  two.  Oh  you 
enemy,  you  enemy !" 

His  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle  I  fur- 
nished, as  he  sat  with  his  arms  folded  on 
the  table,  shaking  his  head  at  me  and  hug- 
ging himself,  had  a  malignity  in  it  that 
made  me  tremble.  As  I  watched  him  in 
silence,  he  put  his  hand  into  the  comer  at 
his  side,  and  took  up  a  gun  with  a  brass- 
bound  stock. 

"  Do  you  know  this?"  said  he,  making 
as  if  he  would  take  aim  at  me.  "  Do  you 
know  where  you  saw  it  afore  ?  Speak, 
wolf!" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

*'  You  cost  me  that  place.  You  did. 
Speak !" 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  215 

"  You  did  that,  and  that  Trould  be  enough, 
without  more.  How  dared  you  to  come  be- 
t"^dxt  me  and  a  young  woman  I  hked?" 

"  When  did  I  ?" 

"  When  didn't  you  ?  It  was  you  as  al- 
ways give  Old  Orlick  a  bad  name  to  her.'' 

"  You  ffave  it  to  vourself :  vou  orained  it 
for  yourself.  I  could  have  done  you  no 
harm,  if  you  had  done  yourself  none." 

"  You''re  a  liar.  And  you'll  take  any  pains, 
and  spend  any  money,  to  drive  me  out  of 
this  country,  will  you?"  said  he,  repeating 
my  words  to  Biddy  in  the  last  interview  I 
had  -with  her.  "  Xow,  I'll  tell  you  a  piece 
of  information.  It  was  never  so  well  worth 
your  while  to  get  me  out  of  this  countrj^  as 
it  is  to-night.  Ah !  If  it  was  all  your 
money  twenty  times  told,  to  the  last  brass 
farden  !"  As  he  shook  his  heavy  hand  at 
me,  with  his  mouth  snarling  like  a  tiger's,  I 
felt  that  it  was  true. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?" 

"  I'm  a  going,"  said  he,  bringing  his  fist 
down  upon  the  table  Tvdth  a  heavy  blow, 
and  rising  as  the  blow  fell,  to  give  it  greater 
force,  "  I'm  a  going  to  have  your  life  !" 


216  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

He  leaned  fonvard  staring  at  me,  slowly 
unclenched  his  hand  and  drew  it  across  his 
mouth  as  if  his  mouth  watered  for  me,  and 
sat  do-vvn  again. 

"  You  was  always  in  Old  Orlick's  way 
since  ever  you  was  a  chikl.  You  goes  out 
of  his  way,  this  present  night.  He'll  have 
no  more  on  you.     You're  dead." 

I  felt  that  I  liad  come  to  the  brink  of 
my  grave.  For  a  moment  I  looked  Avildly 
round  my  trap  for  any  chance  of  escape; 
but  there  was  none. 

"  More  than  that,"  said  he,  folding  his 
arms  on  the  table  again,  "  I  won't  have  a 
rag  of  you,  I  won't  have  a  bone  of  you,  left 
on  earth.  I'll  put  your  body  in  the  kiln — 
I'd  carry  two  such  to  it,  on  my  shoulders — 
and,  let  people  suppose  what  they  may  of 
you,  they  shall  never  know  nothing." 

My  mind,  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  fol- 
lowed out  all  the  consequences  of  such  a 
death.  Estella's  father  would  believe  I  had 
deserted  him,  would  be  taken,  would  die 
accusing  me ;  even  Herbert  Avould  doubt 
me,  when  he  compared  the  letter  I  had  left 
for  him,  with  the  fact  that  I  had  called  at 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  217 

Miss  Havisham's  gate  for  only  a  moment; 
Joe  and  Biddy  would  never  know  how 
sorry  I  had  been  that  night,  none  would 
ever  know  what  I  had  suffered,  how  true  I 
had  meant  to  be,  what  an  agony  I  had 
passed  through.  The  death  close  before 
me  was  terrible,  but  far  more  terrible  than 
death  was  the  dread  of  being  misremem- 
bered  after  death.  And  so  quick  were  my 
thoughts,  that  I  saw  myself  despised  by  un- 
born generations  —  Estella's  children,  and 
their  children — while  the  ^\Tetch's  words 
were  yet  on  his  lips, 

"Now,  wolf,"  said  he,  "afore  I  kill  you 
like  any  other  beast — which  is  wot  I  mean 
to  do  and  wot  I  have  tied  you  up  for — I'll 
have  a  good  look  at  you  and  a  good  goad  at 
you.     Oh,  you  enemy ! " 

It  had  passed  through  my  thoughts  to 
cry  out  for  help  again ;  though  few  could 
know  better  than  I,  the  solitary  nature  of 
the  spot,  and  the  hopelessness  of  aid.  But 
as  he  sat  gloating  over  me,  I  was  supported 
by  a  scornful  detestation  of  him  that  sealed 
my  lips.  Above  all  things,  I  resolved  that 
I  would  not  entreat  him,  and  that  I  would 


218  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

die  making  some  last  poor  resistance  to  him. 
Softened  as  my  thoughts  of  all  the  rest  of 
men  were  in  that  dire  extremity ;  humbly 
beseeching  pardon,  as  I  did,  of  Heaven ; 
melted  at  heart,  as  I  was,  by  the  thought 
that  I  had  taken  no  farewell,  and  never 
never  now  could  take  farewell,  of  those  who 
were  dear  to  me,  or  could  explain  myself  to 
them,  or  ask  for  their  compassion  on  my 
miserable  errors ;  still,  if  I  could  have 
killed  him,  even  in  dying,  I  would  have 
done  it. 

He  had  been  drinking,  and  his  eyes  were 
red  and  bloodshot.  Around  his  neck  was 
slung  a  tin  bottle,  as  I  had  often  seen  his 
meat  and  drink  slung  about  him  in  other 
days.  He  brought  the  bottle  to  his  lips, 
and  took  a  fiery  drink  from  it ;  and  I  smelt 
the  strong  spirits  that  I  saw  flash  into  his 
face. 

"Wolf!"  said  he,  folding  his  arms  again, 
"  Old  Orlick's  a  gomg  to  tell  you  some- 
think.  It  was  you  as  did  for  your  shrew 
sister." 

Again  my  mind,  with  its  former  incon- 
ceivable rapidity,  had  exhausted  the  whole 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  219 

subject  of  the  attack  upon  my  sister,  her 
illness,  and  her  death,  before  his  slow  and 
hesitating  speech  had  formed  those  Avords. 

"  It  was  you,  villain,"  said  I. 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  your  doing — I  tell  you 
it  was  done  through  you,"  he  retorted, 
catching  up  the  gun,  and  making  a  blow 
with  the  stock  at  the  vacant  air  betsveen  us. 
"  I  come  upon  her  from  behind,  as  I  come 
upon  you  to-niglit.  /  giv'  it  her !  I  left 
her  for  dead,  and  if  there  had  been  a  lime- 
kiln as  nigh  her  as  there  is  now  nigh  you, 
she  shouldn't  have  come  to  life  again.  But 
it  warn't  Old  Orlick  as  did  it ;  it  was  you. 
You  was  favoured,  and  he  was  bullied  and 
beat.  Old  Orlick  bullied  and  beat,  eh  ? 
Now  you  paj'S  for  it.  You  done  it ;  now 
you  pays  for  it." 

He  drank  again,  and  became  more  fero- 
cious. I  saw  by  his  tilting  of  the  bottle 
that  there  was  no  great  quantity  left  in  it. 
I  distinctly  understood  that  he  was  working 
himself  up  with  its  contents,  to  make  an  end 
of  me.  I  knew  that  every  drop  it  held,  was 
a  drop  of  my  life.  I  knew  that  when  I  was 
changed  into  a  part  of  the  vapour  that  had 


220  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

crept  towards  me  but  a  little  while  before, 
like  my  own  Avarning  ghost,  he  would  do  as 
he  had  done  in  my  sister's  case — make  all 
haste  to  the  town,  and  be  seen  slouching 
about  there,  drinking  at  the  ale-houses.  My 
rapid  mind  pursued  him  to  the  town,  made 
a  picture  of  the  street  with  him  in  it,  and 
contrasted  its  lights  and  life  with  the  lonely 
marsh  and  the  white  vapour  creeping  over 
it,  into  which  I  should  have  dissolved. 

It  was  not  only  that  I  could  have  summed 
up  years  and  years  and  years  while  he  said 
a  dozen  words,  but  that  what  he  did  say 
presented  pictures  to  me,  and  not  mere 
words.  In  the  excited  and  exalted  state  of 
my  brain,  I  could  not  think  of  a  place  with- 
out seeing  it,  or  of  persons  mthout  seeing 
them.  It  is  impossible  to  over-state  the 
vividness  of  these  images,  and  yet  I  was  so 
intent,  all  the  time,  upon  him  himself — who 
would  not  be  intent  on  the  tiger  crouching 
to  spring  ! — that  I  knew  of  the  slightest  ac- 
tion of  his  finojers. 

When  he  had  drunk  this  second  time,  he 
rose  from  the  bench  on  which  he  sat,  and 
pushed  the  table  aside.     Then,  he  took  up 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  221 

the  candle,  ■  and  shading  it  with  his  mur- 
derous hand  so  as  to  throw  its  light  on  me, 
stood  before  me,  looking  at  me  and  enjoying 
the  sight. 

"AVolf,  I'll  tell  you  something  more.  It 
was  Old  Orlick  as  you  tumbled  over  on 
your  stairs  that  night." 

I  saw  the  staircase  with  its  extinguished 
lamps.  I  saw  the  shadows  of  the  heavy 
stair-rails,  thrown  by  the  watchman's  lantern 
on  the  wall.  I  saw  the  rooms  that  I  was 
never  to  see  again ;  here,  a  door  half  open ; 
there,  a  door  closed ;  all  the  articles  of  fur- 
niture around. 

"And  why  u-as  Old  Orlick  there?  I'll 
tell  you  something  more,  wolf.  You  and 
her  have  pretty  well  hunted  me  out  of 
this  country,  so  far  as  getting  a  easy  living 
in  it  goes,  and  I've  took  up  with  new  com- 
panions, and  new  masters.  Some  of  'em 
writes  my  letters  when  I  wants  'em  wrote — 
do  you  mind? — T\Tites  my  letters,  wolf! 
They  -wTites  fifty  hands ;  they're  not  like 
sneaking  you,  as  A\Tites  but  one.  I've  had 
a  firm  mind  and  a  firm  will  to  have  your 
life,  since  you  was  do^Mi  here  at  your  sis- 


222  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ter's  burying.  I  han't  seen  a  way  to  get 
you  safe,  and  I've  looked  arter  you  to  know 
your  ins  and  outs.  For,  says  Old  Orlick  to 
himself,  '  Somehow  or  another  I'll  have 
him  ! '  What !  When  I  looks  for  you,  I 
finds  your  uncle  Provis,  eh  ?  " 

IMill  Pond  Bank,  and  Chinks's  Basin,  and 
the  Old  Green  Copper  Rope- Walk,  all  so 
clear  and 'plain  !  Provis  in  his  rooms,  the 
signal  whose  use  was  over,  pretty  Clara, 
the  good  motherly  woman,  old  Bill  Barley 
on  his  back,  all  drifting  by,  as  on  the  swift 
stream  of  my  life  fast  running  out  to  sea ! 

"  You  with  a  uncle  too  !  Why,  I  know'd 
you  at  Gargery's  when  you  was  so  small  a 
wolf  that  I  could  have  took  your  weazen  be- 
twixt this  fin  O'er  and  thumb  and  chucked 
you  away  dead  (as  I'd  thoughts  o'  doing,  odd 
times,  when  I  see  you  loitering  amongst  the 
poUards  on  a  Sunday),  and  you  hadn't  found 
no  uncles  then.  No,  not  you !  But  when 
Old  Orlick  come  for  to  hear  that  your  uncle 
Provis  had  mostlike  wore  the  leg-iron  wot 
Old  Orlick  had  picked  up,  filed  asunder,  on 
these  meshes  ever  so  many  year  ago,  and 
wot  he  kep  by  him  till  he  dropped  your  sis- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  223 

ter  with  it,  like  a  bullock,  as  he  means  to 
drop  you — hey  ? — when  he  come  for  to  hear 
that— hey?" 

In  his  savage  taunting,  he  flared  the  can- 
dle so  close  at  me,  that  I  turned  my  face 
aside,  to  save  it  from  the  flame. 

"  Ah  !"  he  cried,  laughing,  after  doing  it 
again,  "  the  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire  !  Old 
Orhck  knowed  you  was  burnt.  Old  Orlick 
knowed  you  was  a  smuggling  your  uncle 
Provis  away,  Old  Orlick's  a  match  for  you 
and  knowed  you'd  come  to-night !  Xow  I'll 
tell  you  something  more,  wolf,  and  this  ends 
it.  There's  them  that's  as  good  a  match  for 
your  uncle  Provis  as  Old  Orlick  has  been 
for  you.  Let  him  'ware  them,  when  he's 
lost  his  newy !  Let  him  'ware  them,  when 
no  man  can't  find  a  rag  of  his  dear  relation's 
clothes,  nor  yet  a  bone  of  his  body  ?  There's 
them  that  can't  and  that  won't  have  Mag- 
witch — yes,  /  know  the  name ! — alive  in  the 
same  land  with  them,  and  that's  had  such 
sure  information  of  him  when  he  was  alive 
in  another  land,  as  that  he  couldn't  and 
shouldn't  leave  it  unbeknown  and  put  them 
in  danger.     P'raps  it's  them  that  writes  fifty 


224  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

hands,  and  that's  not  like  sneaking  you  as 
writes  but  one.  'Ware  Compeyson,  Mag- 
witch,  and  the  gallows !" 

He  flared  the  candle  at  me  again,  smoking 
my  face  and  hair,  and  for  an  instant  blind- 
ing me,  and  turned  his  powerful  back  as  he 
replaced  the  light  on  the  table.  I  had 
thought  a  prayer,  and  had  been  with  Joe 
and  Biddy  and  Herbert,  before  he  turned 
towards  me  again. 

There  was  a  clear  space  of  a  few  feet  be- 
tween the  table  and  the  opposite  wall. 
Within  this  space,  he  now  slouched  back- 
wards and  forwards.  His  great  strength 
seemed  to  sit  stronger  upon  hun  than  ever 
before,  as  he  did  this  with  his  hands  hang- 
ing loose  and  heavy  at  his  sides,  and  Avith 
his  eyes  scowling  at  me.  I  had  no  grain  of 
hope  left.  Wild  as  my  iuAvard  hurry  Avas, 
and  wonderful  the  force  of  the  pictures  that 
rushed  by  me  instead  of  thoughts,  I  could 
yet  clearly  understand  that  unless  he  had 
resolved  that  I  was  within  a  few  moments 
of  surely  perishing  out  of  all  human  know- 
ledge, he  would  never  have  told  me  what 
he  had  told. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  225 

Of  a  sudden,  he  stopped,  took  the  cork  out 
of  his  bottle,  and  tossed  it  away.  Light  as 
it  was,  I  heard  it  fall  like  a  plummet.  He 
swallowed  slowly,  tilting  up  the  bottle  by 
little  and  little,  and  now  he  looked  at  me 
no  more.  The  last  few  drops  of  liquor  he 
poured  into  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  licked 
up.  Then,  with  a  sudden  hurry  of  violence 
and  swearing  horribly,  he  threw  the  bottle 
from  him,  and  stooped ;  and  I  saw  in  liis 
hand  a  stone-hammer  with  a  long  heavy 
handle. 

The  resolution  I  had  made  did  not  desert 
me,  for,  without  uttering  one  vain  word  of 
appeal  to  him,  I  shouted  out  with  all  my 
might,  and  struggled  Avith  all  my  might. 
It  was  only  my  head  and  my  legs  that  I 
could  move,  but  to  that  extent  I  struggled 
with  all  the  force,  until  then  unknown,  that 
was  within  me.  In  the  same  instant  I  heard 
responsive  shouts,  saw  figures  and  a  gleam 
of  light  dash  in  at  the  door,  heard  voices 
and  tumult,  and  saw  Orlick  emerge  from  a 
struggle  of  men,  as  if  it  were  tumbling  water, 
clear  the  table  at  a  leap,  and  fly  out  into 
the  night. 

VOL.  III.  Q 


226  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

After  a  blank,  I  found  that  I  was  lying 
unbound,  on  the  floor,  in  the  same  place, 
with  my  head  on  some  one's  knee.  My  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  ladder  against  the  wall, 
Avhen  I  came  to  myself — had  opened  on  it 
before  my  mind  saw  it — and  thus  as  I  re- 
covered consciousness,  I  knew  that  I  was  in 
the  place  where  I  had  lost  it. 

Too  indifferent  at  first,  even  to  look  round 
and  ascertain  who  supported  me,  I  was  lying 
looking  at  the  ladder,  when  there  came  be- 
tween me  and  it,  a  face.  The  face  of  Trabb's 
boy! 

"  I  think  he's  all  right  !"  said  Trabb's  boy, 
in  a  sober  voice ;  "  but  ain't  he  just  pale 
though !" 

At  these  words,  the  face  of  him  who  sup- 
ported me  looked  over  into  mine,  and  I  saw 
my  supporter  to  be 

"  Herbert !     Great  Heaven  !" 

''  Softly,"  said  Herbert.  "  Gently,  Han- 
del.    Don't  be  too  eager." 

"  And  our  old  comrade,  Startop !"  I  cried, 
as  he  too  bent  over  me. 

"  Remember  what  he  is  going  to  assist  us 
in,"  said  Herbert,  "and  be  calm." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  227 

The  allusion  made  me  spring  up  ;  though 
I  dropped  again  from  the  pain  in  my  arm. 
"The  time  has  not  gone  by,  Herbert,  has  it? 
What  night  is  to-night  ?  How  long  have  I 
been  here?"  For,  I  had  a  strange  and 
strong  misgiving  that  I  had  been  lying  there 
a  long  time — a  day  and  a  night — two  days 
and  nights — more. 

"  The  time  has  not  gone  by.  It  is  still 
Monday  night." 

"  Thank  God !" 

"  And  you  have  all  to-morrow,  Tuesda}^, 
to  rest  in,"  said  Herbert.  "But  you  can't 
help  groaning,  my  dear  Handel.  AVhat  liin^t 
have  you  got?     Can  you  stand  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  "  I  can  walk.  I  have 
no  hurt  but  in  this  throbbino;  arm." 

They  laid  it  bare,  and  did  what  ♦  they 
could.  It  was  violently  swollen  and  in- 
flamed, and  I  could  scarcely  endure  to  have 
it  touched.  But,  they  tore  up  their  hand- 
kerchiefs to  make  fresh  bandafres,  and  care- 
fully  replaced  it  in  the  sling,  until  we  could 
get  to  the  toAvn  and  o])tain  some  cooling 
lotion  to  put  upon  it.  In  a  little  while  we 
had  shut  the  door  of  the  dark  and  empty 
q2 


228  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

sluice-house,  and  were  piissing  through  the 
quarry  on  our  way  back.  Trabb's  boy — 
Trabb's  overgrown  young  man  now — went 
before  us  with  a  lantern,  which  was  the  lif>ht 
I  had  seen  come  in  at  the  door.  But,  the 
moon  was  a  good  two  hours  higher  than 
when  I  had  last  seen  the  sky,  and  the  night 
though  rainy  was  much  lighter.  The  white 
vapour  of  the  kiln  was  passing  from  us  as 
we  went  by,  and,  as  I  had  thought  a  prayer 
before,  I  thousrht  a  thanksoivino;  now. 

Entreating  Herbert  to  tell  me  how  he  had 
come  to  my  rescue — which  at  first  he  had 
flatly  refused  to  do,  but  had  insisted  on  my 
remaining  quiet — I  learnt  that  I  had  in  my 
hurry  dropped  the  letter,  open,  in  our  cham- 
bers, where  he,  coming  home  to  bring  with 
him  Startop  whom  he  had  met  in  the  street 
on  his  way  to  me,  found  it,  very  soon  after 
I  was  gone.  Its  tone  made  him  uneasy,  and 
the  more  so  because  of  the  inconsistency  be 
tween  it  and  the  hasty  letter  I  had  left  for 
him.  His  uneasiness  increasing  instead  of 
subsiding  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  con- 
sideration, he  set  off  for  the  coach-office, 
with  Startop,  who  volunteered  his  company, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  229 

to  make  inquiry  when  the  next  coach  went 
doA\Ti.  Finding  that  the  afternoon  coach 
was  gone,  and  findino-  that  his  uneasiness 
grcAV  into  positive  alarm,  as  obstacles  came 
in  his  way,  he  resolved  to  follow  in  a  post- 
chaise.  So,  he  and  Startop  arrived  at  the 
Blue  Boar,  fully  expecting  there  to  find  me, 
or  tidings  of  me  ;  but,  finding  neither,  went 
on  to  Miss  Havisham's,  where  they  lost  me. 
Hereupon  they  went  back  to  the  hotel 
(doubtless  at  about  the  time  when  I  was 
hearing  the  popular  local  version  of  my  o-wm 
story),  to  refresh  themselves  and  to  get  some 
one  to  guide  them  out  upon  the  marshes. 
Amono-  the  loun":ers  under  the  Boar  s  arch- 
way,  happened  to  be  Trabb's  boy — true  to 
his  ancient  habit  of  happening  to  be  every- 
where where  he  had  no  business  —  and 
Trabb's  Iboy  had  seen  me  passing  from  Miss 
Havisham's  in  the  direction  of  my  dining- 
place.  Thus,  Trabb's  boy  became  their  guide, 
and  with  him  they  went  out  to  the  sluice- 
house  :  though  by  the  town  way  to  the 
marshes,  which  I  had  avoided.  Now,  as 
they  went  along,  Herbert  reflected,  that  I 
might,  after  all,  have  beew  brought  there  on 


230  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

some  genuine  and  serviceable  errand  tending 
to  Provis's  safety,  and,  bethinking  himself 
that  in  that  case  inten'uption  must  be  mis- 
chievous, left  his  guide  and  Startop  on  the 
edge  of  the  quarry,  and  went  on  by  himself, 
and  stole  round  the  house  two  or  three 
times,  endeavouring  to  ascertain  whether  all 
was  right  within.  As  he  could  hear  nothing 
but  indistinct  sounds  of  one  deep  rough  voice 
(this  was  while  my  mind  was  so  busy),  he 
even  at  last  began  to  doubt  whether  I  was 
there,  when  suddenly  I  cried  out  loudly, 
and  he  answered  the  cries,  and  rushed  in, 
closely  followed  l)y  the  other  two. 

AVhen  I  told  Herbert  what  had  passed 
within  the  house,  he  was  for  our  imme- 
diately going  before  a  magistrate  in  the 
toAvn,  late  at  night  as  it  was,  and  getting 
out  a  warrant.  But,  I  had  already  consi- 
dered that  such  a  course,  by  detaining  us 
there,  or  binding  us  to  come  back,  might  be 
fatal  to  Provis.  There  was  no  gainsaying 
this  difficulty,  and  we  relinquished  all 
thoughts  of  pursuing  Orlick  at  that  time. 
For  the  present,  under  the  circumstances, 
we  deemed  it  prudent  to  make  rather  light 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  231 

of  the  matter  to  Trabb's  boy ;  who  I  am 
convinced  would  have  been  much  affected 
by  disappointment,  if  he  had  known  that 
his  intervention  saved  me  from  the  hmekiln. 
Not  that  Trabb's  boy  w^as  of  a  mahgnant 
nature,  but  that  he  had  too  much  spare 
vivacity,  and  that  it  was  in  his  constitution 
to  want  variety  and  excitement  at  anybody's 
expense.  When  we  parted,  I  presented  him 
with  two  guineas  (which  seemed  to  meet  his 
views),  and  told  him  that  I  was  sorry  ever  to 
have  had  an  ill  opinion  of  him  (which  made 
no  impression  on  him  at  all). 

Wednesday  being  so  close  upon  us,  we 
determined  to  2:0  back  to  London  that  nioht, 
three  in  the  post-chaise;  the  rather,  as  Ave 
should  then  be  clear  away,  before  the  night's 
adventure  began  to  be  talked  of.  Herl^ert 
got  a  large  bottle  of  stuff  for  my  arm,  and 
by  dint  of  having  this  stuff  dropped  over  it 
all  the  night  through,  I  was  just  able  to  bear 
its  pain  on  the  journey.  It  was  daylight 
when  we  reached  the  Temple,  and  I  went  at 
once  to  bed,  and  lay  in  bed  all  day. 

My  terror,  as  I  lay  there,  of  falling  ill  and 
being  unfitted  for  to-morrow,  was  so  beset- 


232  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ting,  that  I  wonder  it  did  not  disable  me  of 
itself.  It  would  have  done  so,  pretty  surely, 
in  conjunction  with  the  mental  wear  and 
tear  I  had  suffered,  but  for  the  unnatural 
strain  upon  me  that  to-morrow  was.  So, 
anxiously  looked  forward  to,  charged  with 
such  consequences,  its  results  so  impenetrably 
hidden  though  so  near. 

No  precaution  could  have  been  more  ob- 
vious than  our  refraining  from  communica- 
tion Avith  him  that  day ;  yet  this  again  in- 
creased my  restlessness.  I  started  at  every 
footstep  and  every  sound,  believing  that  he 
was  discovered  and  taken,  and  this  was  the 
messenger  to  tell  me  so.  I  persuaded  myself 
that  I  knew  he  was  taken ;  that  there  was 
something  more  upon  my  mind  than  a  fear 
or  a  presentiment ;  that  the  fact  had  oc- 
curred, and  I  had  a  mysterious  knowledge 
of  it.  As  the  day  wore  on  and  no  ill  news 
came,  as  the  day  closed  in  and  darkness  fell, 
my  overshadowing  dread  of  being  disabled 
by  illness  before  to-morrow  morning,  alto- 
gether mastered  me.  My  burning  arm 
throbbed,  and  my  burning  head  throbbed, 
and  I  fancied  I  was  beo-innino;  to  ^vander.    I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  233 

counted  up  to  high  numbers,  to  make  sure 
of  mysell",  and  repeated  passages  that  I  knew 
in  prose  and  verse.  It  happened  sometimes 
that  in  the  mere  escape  of  a  fatigued  mind, 
I  dozed  for  some  moments  or  forgot ;  then 
I  would  say  to  myself  with  a  start,  "  Now  it 
has  come,  and  I  am  turning  delirious !" 

They  kept  me  very  quiet  all  day,  and  kept 
my  arm  constantly  dressed,  and  gave  me 
cooling  drinks.  Whenever  I  fell  asleep,  I 
awoke  with  the  notion  I  had  had  in  the 
sluice-house,  that  a  long  time  had  elapsed 
and  the  opportunity  to  save  him  w^as  gone. 
About  midnight  I  got  out  of  bed  and  went 
to  Herbert,  with  the  conviction  that  I  had 
been  asleep  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  and 
that  Wednesday  was  past.  It  was  the  last 
self-exhausting  effort  of  my  fretfulness,  for, 
after  that,  I  slept  soundly. 

Wednesday  morning  was  dawning  when 
I  looked  out  of  Avindow.  The  winking 
lights  upon  the  bridges  were  already  pale, 
the  coming  sun  was  like  a  marsh  of  fire  on 
the  horizon.  The  river,  still  dark  and  mys- 
terious, was  spanned  by  bridges  that  Avere 
turning  coldly  grey,  with  here  and  there  at 


234  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

top  a  warm  touch  from  the  burnmg  in  the 
sky.  As  I  looked  along  the  clustered  roofs, 
with  Church  towers  and  spires  shooting  into 
the  unusually  clear  air,  the  sun  rose  up,  and 
a  veil  seemed  to  be  dra\\ai  from  the  river, 
and  millions  of  sparkles  burst  out  upon  its 
waters.  From  me  too,  a  veil  seemed  to  be 
drawn,  and  I  felt  strong  and  well. 

Herbert  lay  asleep  in  his  bed,  and  our  old 
fellow-student  lay  asleep  on  the  sofa.  I 
could  not  dress  myself  without  help,  but  I 
made  up  the  fire,  which  was  still  burning, 
and  got  some  coiFee  ready  for  them.  In 
good  time  they  too  started  up  strong  and 
well,  and  we  admitted  the  sharp  morning 
air  at  the  windows,  and  looked  at  the  tide 
that  was  still  flowing  towards  us. 

"  AVhen  it  turns  at  nine  o'clock,"  said  Her- 
bert, cheerfully,  "look  out  for  us,  and  stand 
ready,  you  over  there  at  Mill  Pond  Bank !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  235 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  one  of  those  March  days  when  the 
sun  shines  hot  and  the  wind  blows  cold  : 
when  it  is  summer  in  the  light,  and  winter 
in  the  shade.  We  had  our  pea-coats  mth 
us,  and  I  took  a  bag.  Of  all  my  w^orldly 
possessions  I  took  no  more  than  the  few 
necessaries  that  filled  the  bag.  Where  I 
miffht  sro,  what  I  mifrht  do,  or  when  I  mio;ht 
return,  were  questions  utterly  unkno^\'n  to 
me ;  nor  did  I  vex  my  mind  with  them,  for 
it  was  wholly  set  on  Provisos  safety.  I  only 
wondered  for  the  passing  moment,  as  I 
stopped  at  the  door  and  looked  back,  under 
what  altered  circxmistances  I  should  next 
see  those  rooms,  if  ever. 

We  loitered  down  to  the  Temple  stairs, 


236  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

and  stood  loitering  there,  as  if  we  were  not 
quite  decided  to  go  upon  the  water  at  all. 
Of  course  I  had  taken  care  that  the  boat 
should  be  ready  and  everything  in  order. 
After  a  little  show  of  indecision,  which  there 
were  none  to  see  but  the  two  or  three  am- 
phibious creatures  belonging  to  our  Temple 
stairs,  we  went  on  board  and  cast  off;  Her- 
bert in  the  bow,  I  steering.  It  was  then 
about  high-water — half-past  eight. 

Our  plan  was  this.  The  tide,  beginning 
to  run  do^vn  at  nine,  and  being  with  us 
until  three,  we  intended  still  to  creep  on 
after  it  had  turned,  and  row  against  it  until 
dark.  AYe  should  then  be  well  in  those 
long  reaches  below  Gravesend,  between 
Kent  and  Essex,  where  the  river  is  broad 
and  solitary,  where  the  Avater-side  inhabit- 
ants are  very  few,  and  where  lone  public- 
houses  are  scattered  here  and  there,  of  which 
we  could  choose  one  for  a  resting-place. 
There,  we  meant  to  lie  by,  all  night.  The 
steamer  for  Hamburg,  and  the  steamer  for 
Rotterdam,  would  start  from  London  at 
about    nine    on    Thursday   morning.     We 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  237 

should  know  at  what  time  to  expect  them, 
according  to  where  we  were,  and  would 
hail  the  first ;  so  that  if  by  any  accident  we 
were  not  taken  aboard,  we  should  have 
another  chance.     We  knew  the  disting-uish- 

o 

ino;  marks  of  each  vessel. 

The  relief  of  being  at  last  engaged  in  the 
execution  of  the  purpose,  was  so  great  to 
me  that  I  felt  it  difficult  to  realise  the  con- 
dition in  which  I  had  been  a  few  hours 
before.  The  crisp  air,  the  sunlight,  the 
movement  on  the  river,  and  the  moving 
river  itself — the  road  that  ran  mth  us,  seem- 
ing to  sympathise  with  us,  animate  us,  and 
encourage  us  on — freshened  me  with  new 
hope.  I  felt  mortified  to  be  of  so  little  use 
in  the  boat ;  but,  there  were  few  better  oars- 
men than  my  two  friends,  and  they  rowed 
with  a  steady  stroke  that  was  to  last  all 
day. 

At  that  time,  the  steam-traffic  on  the 
Thames  was  far  below  its  present  extent, 
and  watermen's  boats  were  far  more  nume- 
rous. Of  barges,  sailing  colliers,  and  coast- 
ing-traders, there  were  perhaps  as  many  as 


238  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

noAv ;  but,  of  steam-ships,  great  and  small, 
not  a  titlie  or  a  twentieth  part  so  many. 
Early  as  it  was,  there  were  plenty  of  scullers 
going  here  and  there  that  morning,  and 
plenty  of  barges  dropping  down  wdth  the 
tide ;  the  navigation  of  the  river  between 
bridges,  in  an  open  boat,  was  a  much  easier 
and  commoner  matter  in  those  days  than  it 
is  in  these ;  and  we  went  ahead  among  many 
skiffs  and  w^herries,  briskly. 

Old  London  Bridge  was  soon  passed,  and 
old  Billingsgate  market  with  its  oj^ster-boats 
and  Dutchmen,  and  the  AVhite  ToAver  and 
Traitors'  Gate,  and  we  were  in  among  the 
tiers  of  shipping.  Here,  were  the  Leith, 
Aberdeen,  and  Glasgow  steamers,  loading 
and  unloading  goods,  and  looking  immensely 
high  out  of  the  water  as  Ave  passed  alongside ; 
here,  were  colliers  by  the  score  and  score, 
with  the  coal-whippers  j^lunging  off  stages 
on  deck,  as  counterweights  to  measures  of 
coal  swinging  up,  Avhich  were  then  rattled 
over  the  side  into  barges ;  here,  at  her 
moorinixs  was  to-morrow's  steamer  for  Rot- 
terdam,  of  which  we  took  good  notice ;  and 
here  to-morrow's  for  Hamburg,  under  whose 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  239 

bowsprit  we  crossed.  And  now  I,  sitting  in 
the  stern,  could  see  with  a  faster  beating 
heart,  Mill  Pond  Bank  and  Mill  Pond 
stairs.    ■ 

"  Is  he  there  ?"  said  Herbert. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Right !  He  was  not  to  come  down  till 
he  saw  us.     Can  you  see  his  signal  ?" 

"  Not  well  from  here ;  but  I  think  I  see 
it. — Now,  I  see  him !  Pull  both.  Easy, 
Herbert.     Oars !" 

We  touched  the  stairs  lightly  for  a  single 
moment,  and  he  was  on  board  and  we  were 
off  again.  He  had  a  boat-cloak  with  him, 
and  a  black  canvas  bag,  and  he  looked  as 
like  a  river-pilot  as  my  heart  could  have 
wished. 

"  Dear  boy !"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  on 
my  shoulder  as  he  took  his  seat.  "  Faithful 
dear  boy,  well  done.     Thankye,  thankye  !" 

Again  among  the  tiers  of  shipping,  in 
and  out,  avoiding  rusty  chain-cables  frayed 
hempen  haAvsers  and  bobl)ing  buoys,  sink- 
ing for  the  moment  floating  broken  baskets, 
scattering  floating  chips  of  wood  and  shav- 
ing, cleaving  floating  scum  of  coal,  in  and 


240  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

out,  under  the  figure-head  of  the  John  of 
Sunderhmd  making  a  speech  to  the  winds 
(as  is  done  by  many  Johns),  and  the  Betsy 
of  Yarmouth  with  a  firm  formality  of  l)osom 
and  her  knobby  eyes  starting  two  inches  out 
of  her  head,  in  and  out,  hammers  going  in 
ship-builders'  yards,  saws  going  at  timber, 
clashing  engines  going  at  things  unknown, 
pumps  going  in  leaky  ships,  capstans  going, 
ships  going  out  to  sea,  and  unintelligible 
sea-creatures  roaring  'curses  over  the  bul- 
warks at  respondent  lightermen,  in  and  out 
— out  at  last  upon  the  clearer  river,  where 
the  ships'  boys  might  take  their  fenders  in, 
no  lono;er  fishino;  in  troubled  waters  with 
them  over  the  side,  and  where  the  festooned 
sails  might  fly  out  to  the  wind. 

At  the  Stairs  where  we  had  taken  him 
aboard,  and  ever  since,  I  had  looked  warily 
for  any  token  of  our  being  suspected.  I 
had  seen  none.  We  certainly  had  not  been, 
and  at  that  time  as  certainly  we  were  not, 
either  attended  or  followed  by  any  boat.  If 
we  had  been  waited  on  b}'  any  boat,  I  should 
have  run  in  to  shore,  and  have  obliged  her 
to  go  on,  or  to  make  her  purpose  evident. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  241 

But,  Tve  held  our  o^Yn^  without  any  appear- 
ance of  molestation. 

He  had  his  boat-cloak  on  him,  and  looked, 
as  I  have  said,  a  natural  part  of  the  scene. 
It  was  remarkable  (but  perhaps  the  wretched 
life  he  had  led,  accounted  for  it),  that  he 
was  the  least  anxious  of  any  of  us.  He  was 
not  indifferent,  for  he  told  me  that  he  hoped 
to  live  to  see  his  gentleman  one  of  the  best  of 
gentlemen  in  a  foreign  country ;  he  was  not 
disposed  to  be  passive  or  resigned,  as  I  un- 
derstood it ;  but  he  had  no  notion  of  meet- 
ing danger  half  way.  When  it  came  upon 
him,  he  confronted  it,  but  it  must  come 
before  he  troubled  himself. 

"  If  you  knowed,  dear  boy,"  he  said  to 
me,  "what  it  is  to  sit  here  alonger  my  dear 
boy  and  have  my  smoke,  arter  having  been 
day  by  day  betwixt  four  walls,  you'd  envy 
me.     But  you  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"  I  think  I  know  the  delimits  of  freedom," 
I  answered. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head  gravel}'. 
"  But  you  don't  know  it  equal  to  me.  You 
must  have  been  under  lock  and  key,  dear 

VOL.  III.  R 


242  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

boy,  to  know  it  equal  to  irie — but  I  ain't  a 
going  to  be  low." 

It  occurred  to  me  as  inconsistent,  that  for 
any  mastering  idea,  he  should  have  endan- 
gered his  freedom  and  even  his  life.  But 
I  reflected  that  perhaps  freedom  without 
danger  was  too  much  apart  from  all  the 
habit  of  his  existence  to  be  to  him  what  it 
would  be  to  another  man.  I  was  not  far 
out,  since  he  said,  after  smoking  a  little : 

"You  see,  dear  boy,  when  I  was  over 
yonder,  t'other  side  the  world,  I  was  always 
a  looking  to  this  side ;  and  it  come  flat 
to  be  there,  for  all  I  was  a  gi'o^ving  rich. 
Everybody  knowed  Magwitch,  and  Mag- 
witch  could  come,  and  Magwitch  could  go, 
and  nobody's  head  would  be  troubled  about 
him.  They  ain't  so  easy  concerning  me 
here,  dear  boy — wouldn't  be,  leastwise,  if 
they  knowed  where  I  was," 

"  If  all  goes  weU,"  said  I,  "  you  will  be 
perfectly  free  and  safe  again,  Avithin  a  few 
hours." 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "  I  hope  so." 

"And  think  so?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  243 

He  dipped  his  hand  in  the  water  over  the 
boat's  gunwale,  and  said,  smiling  with  that 
softened  air  upon  him  which  was  not  new 
to  me : 

"  Ay,  I  s'pose  I  think  so,  dear  boy.  We'd 
be  puzzled  to  be  more  quiet  and  easy-going 
than  we  are  at  present.  But — it's  a  flowing 
so  soft  and  pleasant  through  the  water, 
p'raps,  as  makes  me  think  it — I  was  a  think- 
ing through  my  smoke  just  then,  that  we 
can  no  more  see  to  the  bottom  of  the  next 
few  hours,  than  we  can  see  to  the  bottom  of 
this  river  what  I  catches  hold  of.  Xor  yet 
we  can't  no  more  hold  their  tide  than  I  can 
hold  this.  And  it's  run  through  my  fingers 
and  gone,  you  see !"  holding  up  his  dripping 
hand. 

"  But  for  your  face,  I  should  think  you 
were  a  little  despondent,"  said  I. 

"  Not  a  bit  on  it,  dear  boy  !  It  comes  of 
flowing  on  so  quiet,  and  of  that  there  rip- 
phng  at  the  boat's  head  making  a  sort  of  a 
Sunday  tune.  Maybe  I'm  a  grooving  a  trifle 
old  besides." 

He  put  his  pipe  back  in  his  mouth  with 
an  undisturbed  expression  of  face,   and  sat 
II  2 


244  GREAT  EXPECTATION'S. 

as  composed  and  contented  as  if  we  were 
already  out  of  England.  Yet  he  was  as 
submissive  to  a  word  of  advice  as  if  he  had 
been  in  constant  terror,  for,  when  we  ran 
ashore  to  get  some  bottles  of  beer  into  the 
boat,  and  he  was  stepping  out,  I  hinted  that 
I  thouo-ht  he  Avould  be  safest  where  he  was, 
and  he  said,  "Do  you,  dear  boy?"  and 
quietly  sat  down  again. 

The  air  felt  cold  upon  the  river,  but  it 
was  a  bright  day,  and  the  sunshine  was  very 
cheering.  The  tide  ran  strong,  I  took  care 
to  lose  none  of  it,  and  our  steady  stroke 
carried  us  on  thoroughly  well.  By  imper- 
ceptible degrees,  as  the  tide  ran  out,  we  lost 
more  and  more  of  the  nearer  woods  and  hills, 
and  dropped  lower  and  lower  between  the 
muddy  banks,  but  the  tide  was  yet  "with  us 
when  we  were  off  Gravesend.    As  our  charo-e 

o 

was  Avrapped  in  his  cloak,  I  purposely-  passed 
within  a  boat  or  two's  lenfirth  of  the  floatino- 
Custom  House,  and  so  out  to  catch  the 
stream,  alongside  of  two  emigi-ant  ships, 
and  under  the  bows  of  a  large  transport 
with  troops  on  the  forecastle  looking  do-^Ti 
at  us.     And  soon  the  tide  bcfjan  to  slacken, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  245 

and  the  craft  lying  at  anchor  to  swing,  and 
presently  they  had  all  swung  round,  and  the 
ships  that  were  taking  advantage  of  the  new 
tide  to  get  up  to  the  Pool,  began  to  crowd 
upon  us  in  a  fleet,  and  we  kept  under  the 
shore,  as  much  out  of  the  strength  of  the 
tide  now  as  we  could,  standing  carefully  off 
from  low  shallows  and  mud-banks. 

Our  oarsmen  were  so  fresh,  by  dint  of 
having  occasionally  let  her  drive  with  the 
tide  for  a  minute  or  two,  that  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  rest  proved  full  as  much  as  they 
wanted.  We  got  ashore  among  some  slip- 
pery stones  while  we  ate  and  drank  what 
we  had  with  us,  and  looked  about.  It  was 
like  my  own  marsh  country,  flat  and  mono- 
tonous, and  with  a  dim  horizon  ;  while  the 
winding  river  turned  and  turned,  and  the 
great  floating  buoys  upon  it  turned  and 
turned,  and  everything  else  seemed  stranded 
and  still.  For,  now,  the  last  of  the  fleet  of 
ships  was  round  the  last  low  point  we  had 
headed;  and  the  last  green  barge,  straw- 
laden,  with  a  brown  sail,  had  followed ;  and 
some  ballast-lighters,  shaped  like  a  child's 
first  rude  imitation  of  a  boat,  lay  low  in  the 


246  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

mud  ;  and  a  little  squat  slioal-lighthouse  on 
open  piles,  «tood  crippled  in  the  mud  on 
stilts  and  crutches ;  and  slimy  stakes  stuck 
out  of  the  mud,  and  slimy  stones  stuck  out 
of  the  mud,  and  red  landmarks  and  tide- 
marks  stuck  out  of  the  mud,  and  an  old 
landino-staoe  and  an  old  roofless  buildinsr 
slipped  into  the  mud,  and  all  about  us  was 
stagnation  and  mud. 

We  pushed  off  again,  and  made  Avhat  way 
we  could.  It  was  much  harder  work  now, 
but  Herbert  and  Startop  persevered,  and 
rowed,  and  rowed,  and  rowed,  until  the 
sun  went  down.  By  that  time  the  river 
had  lifted  us  a  little,  so  that  we  could  see 
above  the  bank.  There  was  the  red  sun,  on 
the  low  level  of  the  shore,  in  a  purple  haze, 
fast  deepening  into  black;  and  there  was 
the  solitary  flat  marsh  ;  and  far  away  there 
were  the  rising  grounds,  between  which  and 
us  there  seemed  to  be  no  life,  save  here  and 
there  in  the  foreground  a  melancholy  gull. 

As  the  night  was  fast  ftilling,  and  as  the 
moon,  being  past  the  full,  would  not  rise 
early,  we  held  a  little  council :  a  short  one, 
for  clearly  our  course  was  to  lie  by  at  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIOXS.  247 

first  lonely  tavern  we  could  find.  So,  they 
plied  their  oars  once  more,  and  I  looked  out 
for  anything  like  a  house.  Thus  we  held 
on,  speaking  little,  for  four  or  five  dull 
miles.  It  was  very  cold,  and,  a  collier 
coming  by  us,  with  her  galley -^re  smoking 
and  flaring,  looked  like  a  comfortable  home. 
The  night  was  as  dark  by  this  time  as  it 
would  be  until  morning ;  and  what  light  we 
had,  seemed  to  come  more  from  the  river 
than  the  sk}?-,  as  the  oars  in  their  dipping- 
struck  at  a  few  reflected  stars. 

At  this  dismal  time  we  Avere  evidently  all 
possessed  by  the  idea  that  we  were  followed. 
As  the  tide  made,  it  flapped  heavily  at  ir- 
regular intervals  against  the  shore ;  and 
whenever  such  a  sound  came,  one  or  other 
of  us  was  sure  to  start  and  look  in  that 
direction.  Here  and  there,  the  set  of  the 
current  had  worn  down  the  bank  into  a 
little  creek,  and  we  were  all  suspicious  of 
such  places,  and  eyed  them  nervously. 
Sometimes,  "  What  was  that  ripple !"  one 
of  us  would  say  in  a  low  voice.  Or  another, 
*'  Is  that  a  boat  yonder  ?"  And  afterwards, 
we  would  fall  into  a  dead  silence,   and  I 


248  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

would  sit  impatiently  thinking  mth  what  an 
unusual  amount  of  noise  the  oars  worked  in 
the  thowels. 

At  length  Ave  descried  a  light  and  a  roof, 
and  presently  afterwards  ran  alongside  a 
little  causeway  made  of  stones  that  had  been 
picked  up  hard-by.  Leaving  the  rest  in  the 
boat,  I  stepped  ashore,  and  found  the  light 
to  be  in  a  window  of  a  public-house.  It  was 
a  dirty  place  enough,  and  I  dare  say  not 
unknown  to  smuggling  adventurers  ;  but 
there  was  a  good  fire  in  the  kitchen,  and 
there  were  eggs  and  bacon  to  eat,  and 
various  liquors  to  drink.  Also,  there  were 
two  double-bedded  rooms — "such  as  they 
were,"  the  landlord  said.  No  other  com- 
pany was  in  the  house  than  the  landlord, 
his  wife,  and  a  grizzled  male  creature,  the 
"  Jack"  of  the  little  causeway,  who  Avas  as 
slimy  and  smeary  as  if  he  had  been  low- 
water  mark  too. 

With  this  assistant,  I  Avent  doAA^n  to  the 
boat  again,  and  Ave  all  came  ashore,  and 
brought  out  the  oars,  and  rudder,  and  boat- 
hook,  and  all  else,  and  hauled  her  up  for 
the  night.     We  made  a  very  good  meal  by 


GREAT  EXTECTATIONS.  249 

the  kitchen  fire,  and  then  apportioned  the 
bedrooms:  Herbert  and  Startop  were  to 
occupy  one;  I  and  our  charge  the  other. 
We  found  the  air  as  carefully  excluded  from 
both,  as  if  air  were  fatal  to  life ;  and  there 
were  more  dirty  clothes  and  bandboxes  under 
the  beds  than  I  should  have  thought  the 
family  possessed.  But,  we  considered  our- 
selves well  off,  notwithstanding,  for  a  more 
solitary  place  we  could  not  have  found. 

While  we  were  comforting  ourselves  by 
the  fire  after  our  meal,  the  Jack — who  was 
sitting  in  a  corner,  and  who  had  a  bloated 
pair  of  shoes  on,  which  he  had  exhibited 
while  we  were  eating  our  eggs  and  bacon, 
as  interesting  relics  that  he  had  taken  a  few 
days  ago  from  the  feet  of  a  drowned  seaman 
washed  ashore — asked  me  if  we  had  seen  a 
four-oared  galley  going  up  with  the  tide  ? 
When  I  told  him  No,  he  said  she  must  have 
gone  down  then,  and  yet  she  "  took  up  too," 
when  she  left  there. 

"  They  must  ha'  thought  better  on't  for 
some  reason  or  another,"  said  the  Jack,  "  and 
gone  down." 

"  A  four-oared  galley,  did  you  say?"  said  I. 


250  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  A  four,"  said  the  Jack,  "■  and  two 
sitters." 

"  Did  they  come  ashore  here  ?" 

"  They  put  in  with  a  stone  two-gallon  jar, 
for  some  beer.  I'd  ha'  been  glad  to  pison  the 
beer  myself,"  said  the  Jack,  "  or  put  some 
rattling  physic  in  it." 

"Why?" 

" /know  why,"  said  the  Jack.  He  spoke 
in  a  slushy  voice,  as  if  much  mud  had 
washed  into  his  throat. 

"  He  thinks,"  said  the  landlord :  a  weakly 
meditative  man  with  a  pale  eye,  who  seemed 
to  rely  greatly  on  his  Jack:  "he  thinks 
they  was,  what  they  w^asn't." 

"/  knoAvs  what  I  thinks,"  observed  the 
Jack. 

"  You  thinks  Custum  'Us,  Jack  ?"  said  the 
landlord. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Jack. 

"  Then  you're  wrong,  Jack." 

"Am  I!" 

In  the  infinitive  meaning  of  his  reply  and 
his  boundless  confidence  in  his  views,  the 
Jack  took  one  of  his  bloated  shoes  ofl"', 
looked  into  it,  knocked  a  few  stones  out  of 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  251 

it  on  the  kitchen  floor,  and  put  it  on  again. 
He  did  this  with  the  air  of  a  Jack  who  was 
so  right  that  he  could  afford  to  do  any- 
thing. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  make  out  that  they 
done  ^\dth  their  buttons  then,  Jack  ?"  asked 
the  landlord,  vacillating  weakly. 

"  Done  with  their  buttons  ?"  returned  the 
Jack.  "  Chucked  'em  overboard.  Swallered 
'em.  Sowed  'em,  to  come  up  small  salad. 
Done  with  their  buttons !" 

"Don't  be  cheeky.  Jack,"  remonstrated 
the  landlord,  in  a  melancholy  and  pathetic 

wav. 

./ 

"  A  Custum  'Us  officer  knows  what  to  do 
with  his  Buttons,"  said  the  Jack,  repeating 
the  obnoxious  word  with  the  greatest  con- 
tempt, "when  they  comes  betwixt  him  and 
his  own  light.  A  Four  and  two  sitters 
don't  go  hanging  and  hovering,  up  with  one 
tide  and  down  with  another,  and  both  with 
and  against  another,  without  there  being 
Custum  'Us  at  the  bottom  of  it."  Saying 
which  he  went  out  in  disdain  ;  and  the  land- 
lord, having  no  one  to  rely  upon,  found  it 
impracticable  to  pursue  the  subject. 


252  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

This  dialogue  made  us  all  uneasy,  and  me 
very  uneasy.  The  dismal  wind  was  mutter- 
ing round  the  house,  the  tide  was  flapping 
at  the  shore,  and  I  had  a  feeling  that  we 
were  cao:ed  and  threatened.  A  four-oared 
galley  hovering  about  in  so  unusual  a  way 
as  to  attract  this  notice,  was  an  ugly  circum- 
stance that  I  could  not  get  rid  of  When  I 
had  induced  Provis  to  go  up  to  bed,  I  went 
outside  Avith  my  two  companions  (Startop 
by  this  time  knew  the  state  of  the  case), 
and  held  another  council.  "Whether  we 
should  remain  at  the  house  until  near  the 
steamer's  time,  which  would  be  about  one 
in  the  afternoon  ;  or  whether  we  should 
put  off  early  in  the  morning ;  was  the  ques- 
tion we  discussed.  On  the  whole  we  deemed 
it  th&  better  course  to  lie  where  we  were, 
until  within  an  hour  or  so  of  the  steamer's 
time,  and  then  to  get  out  in  her  track,  and 
drift  easily  with  the  tide.  Having  settled 
to  do  this,  we  returned  into  the  house  and 
went  to  bed. 

I  lay  doAvn  with  the  greater  part  of  my 
clothes  on,  and  slept  well  for  a  few  hours. 
When  I  awoke,  the  wind  had  risen,  and  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  253 

sign  of  the  house  (the  Ship)  was  creaking  and 
banging  about,  vrith.  noises  that  startled  me. 
Rising  softly,  for  my  charge  lay  fast  asleep, 
I  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  commanded 
the  causeway  where  we  had  hauled  up  our 
boat,  and,  as  my  eyes  adapted  themselves  to 
the  light  of  the  clouded  moon,  I  saw  two 
men  looking  into  her.  They  passed  by  under 
the  window,  looking  at  nothing  else,  and 
they  did  not  go  do^vn  to  the  landing-place 
which  I  could  discern  to  be  empty,  but 
struck  across  the  marsh  in  the  direction  of 
the  Xore. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  call  up  Herbert, 
and  show  him  the  two  men  going  away. 
But,  reflecting  before  I  got  into  his  room, 
which  was  at  tlie  back  of  the  house  and 
adjoined  mine,  that  he  and  Startop  had 
had  a  harder  day  than  I,  and  were 
fatigued,  I  forbore.  Going  back  to  my 
window,  I  could  see  the  two  men  mo^^no: 
over  the  marsh.  In  that  light,  however,  I 
soon  lost  them,  and  feeling  \ery  cold,  lay 
do^^^l  to  think  of  the  matter,  and  feU.  asleep 
again, 

"We    were   up  early.      As  we  walked  to 


254  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  fro,  all  four  together,  before  breakfast,  I 
deemed  it  right  to  recount  what  I  had  seen. 
Again  our  charge  was  the  least  anxious  of  the 
party.  It  was  very  likely  that  the  men  be- 
longed to  the  Custom  House,  lie  said  quietly, 
and  that  they  had  no  thought  of  us.  I 
tried  to  persuade  myself  that  it  was  so — as, 
indeed,  it  might  easily  be.  However,  I 
proposed  that  he  and  I  should  walk  away 
together  to  a  distant  point  we  could  see,  and 
that  the  boat  should  take  us  aboard  there, 
or  as  near  there  as  might  prove  feasible,  at 
about  noon.  This  being  considered  a  good 
precaution,  soon  after  breakfast  he  and  I 
set  forth,  without  saying  anything  at  the 
tavern. 

He  smoked  his  pipe  as  we  went  along,  and 
sometimes  stopped  to  clap  me  on  the  shoulder. 
One  would  have  supposed  that  it  was  I  who 
was  in  danger,  not  he,  and  that  he  was  reas- 
suring me.  We  spoke  very  little.  As  w^e  ap- 
proached the  point,  I  begged  him  to  remain 
in  a  sheltered  place,  while  I  w^ent  on  to  re- 
connoitre; for,  it  was  towards  it  that  the 
men  had  passed  in  the  niglit.  He  complied, 
and  I  went  on  alone.  There  was  no  boat  off 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  255 

the  point,  nor  any  boat  drawn  up  anywhere 
near  it,  nor  were  there  any  signs  of  the  men 
having  embarked  there.  But,  to  be  sure  the 
tide  was  high,  and  there  might  have  been 
some  footprints  under  water. 

When  he  looked  out  from  his  shelter  in  the 
distance,  and  saw  that  I  waved  my  hat  to 
him  to  come  up,  he  rejomed  me,  and  there 
we  waited :  sometimes  lying  on  the  bank 
wrapped  in  our  coats,  and  sometimes  moving 
about  to  warm  ourselves :  until  we  saw  our 
boat  coming  round.  We  got  aboard  easily, 
and  rowed  out  into  the  track  of  the  steamer. 
By  that  time  it  wanted  but  ten  minutes  of 
one  o'clock,  and  we  began  to  look  out  for 
her  smoke. 

But,  it  was  half-past  one  before  we  saw 
her  smoke,  and  soon  afterwards  we  saw  be- 
hind it  the  smoke  of  another -steamer.  As 
they  were  coming  on  at  full  speed,  we  got 
the  two  bags  ready,  and  took  that  opportu- 
nity of  saying  good-by  to  Herbert  and  Star- 
top.  We  had  all  shaken  hands  cordially, 
and  neither  Herbert's  eyes  nor  mine  were 
quite  dry,  when  I  saw  a  four- oared  galley 
shoot  out  from  under  the  bank  but  a  little 


256  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

way  ahead  of  us,  and  row  out  into  the  same 
track. 

A  stretch  of  shore  had  been  as  yet  be- 
tween us  and  the  steamer's  smoke,  by  reason 
of  the  bend  and  wind  of  the  river ;  but  now 
she  was  visible,  coming  head  on.  I  called  to 
Herbert  and  Startop  to  keep  before  the  tide, 
that  she  might  see  us  lying  by  for  her,  and 
I  adjured  Provis  to  sit  quite  still,  ANTapped 
in  his  cloak.  He  answered  cheerily,  "  Trust 
to  me,  dear  boy,"  and  sat  like  a  statue. 
Meantime  the  galley,  which  was  very  skil- 
fully handled,  had  crossed  us,  let  us  come 
up  with  her,  and  fallen  alongside.  Leaving 
just  room  enough  for  the  play  of  the  oars, 
she  kept  alongside,  drifting  when  we  drifted, 
and  pulling  a  stroke  or  two  Avhen  we  pulled. 
Of  the  two  sitters,  one  held  the  rudder  lines, 
and  looked  at  us  attentively — as  did  all  the 
rowers  ;  the  other  sitter  was  wrapped  up, 
much  as  Provis  was,  and  seemed  to  shrink, 
and  whisper  some  instruction  to  the  steerer 
as  he  looked  at  us.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
in  either  boat. 

Startop  could  make  out,  after  a  few 
minutes,  which  steamer  was  first,  and  gave 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  257 

me  the  word  "  Hamburg,"  in  a  low  voice  as 
we  sat  face  to  face.  She  was  nearing  us 
very  fast,  and  the  beating  of  her  paddles 
grew  louder  and  louder.  I  felt  as  if  her 
shadow  were  absolutely  upon  us,  when  the 
galley  hailed  us.     I  answered. 

"You  have  a  returned  Transport  there," 
said  the  man  who  held  the  lines.  "That's 
the  man,  wrapped  in  the  cloak.  His  name 
is  Abel  Magwitch,  otherwise  Provis.  I  ap- 
prehend that  man,  and  call  upon  him  to 
surrender,  and  you  to  assist." 

At  the  same  moment,  without  giving  any 
audible  direction  to  his  crew,  he  ran  the 
galley  aboard  of  us.  They  had  2:)ulled  one 
sudden  stroke  ahead,  had  got  their  oars  in, 
had  run  athwart  us,  and  were  holding  on  to 
our  gunwale,  before  we  knew  what  they  were 
doing.  This  caused  great  confusion  on 
Ijoard  the  steamer,  and  I  heard  them  callino; 
to  US,  and  heard  the  order  given  to  stop  the 
paddles,  and  heard  them  stop,  but  felt  her 
driving  down  upon  us  irresistibly.  In  the 
same  moment,  I  saw  the  steersman  of  the 
galley  lay  his  hand  on  his  prisoner's  shoulder, 
and   saw   that   both   boats   were  swinging 

VOL.  III.  s 


258  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

round  with  the  force  of  the  tide,  and  saw 
that  all  hands  on  board  the  steamer  were 
running  forward  quite  frantically.  Still  in 
the  same  moment,  I  saw  the  prisoner  start 
up,  lean  across  his  captor,  and  pull  the  cloak 
from  the  neck  of  the  shrinking  sitter  in  the 
galley.  Still  in  the  same  moment,  I  saw  that 
the  face  disclosed,  was  the  face  of  the  other 
convict  of  long  ago.  Still  in  the  same  mo- 
ment, I  saw  the  face  tilt  backward  mth  a 
white  terror  on  it  that  I  shall  never  forget, 
and  heard  a  great  cry  on  board  the  steamer 
and  a  loud  splash  in  the  water,  and  felt  the 
boat  sink  from  under  me. 

It  was  but  for  an  instant  that  I  seemed 
to  struggle  with  a  thousand  mill-weirs  and 
a  thousand  flashes  of  light;  that  instant 
past,  I  was  taken  on  board  the  galley.  Her- 
bert was  there,  and  Startop  was  there ;  but 
our  boat  was  gone,  and  the  two  convicts 
were  gone. 

What  with  the  cries  aboard  the  steamer, 
and  the  furious  blowing-off  of  her  steam, 
and  her  driving  on,  and  our  driving  on,  I 
could  not  at  first  distinguish  sky  from  water 
or  shore  from  shore;  but,  the  crew  of  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  259 

galley  righted  her  with  great  speed,  and, 
pulling  certain  s'svift  strong  strokes  ahead, 
lay  upon  their  oars,  every  man  looking 
silently  and  eagerly  at  the  water  astern. 
Presently  a  dark  object  was  seen  in  it,  bear- 
ing towards  us  on  the  tide.  No  man  spoke, 
but  the  steersman  held  up  his  hand,  and  all 
softly  backed  water,  and  kept  the  boat  straight 
and  true  before  it.  As  it  came  nearer,  I  saw 
it  to  be  MagA\dtch,  swimming,  but  not  swim- 
ming freely.  He  was  taken  on  board,  and 
instantly  manacled  at  the  wrists  and  ankles. 

The  galley  was  kept  steady,  and  the  silent 
eager  look-out  at  the  water  was  resumed. 
But,  the  Rotterdam  steamer  now  came  up, 
and  apparently  not  understanding  what  had 
happened,  came  on  at  speed.  By  the  time 
she  had  been  hailed  and  stopped,  both  steam- 
ers were  drifting  away  from  us,  and  we  were 
rising  and  falling  in  a  troubled  wake  of 
water.  The  look-out  was  kept,  long  after 
all  was  still  again  and  the  two  steamers  were 
gone  ;  but,  everybody  knew  that  it  was  hope- 
less now. 

At  length  we  gave  it  up,  and  pulled  under 
the  shore  towards  the  tavern  we  had  lately 
s2 


260  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

left,  where  Ave  were  received  with  no  little 
surprise.  Here,  I  was  able  to  get  some  com- 
forts for  Maoavitch — Provis  no  lonofer — who 
had  received  some  very  severe  injur}^  in  the 
chest  and  a  deep  cut  in  the  head. 

He  told  me  that  he  believed  himself  to 
have  gone  under  the  keel  of  the  steamer, 
and  to  have  been  struck  on  the  head  in 
rising.  The  injury  to  his  chest  (which  ren- 
dered his  breathing  extremely  painful)  he 
thought  he  had  received  against  the  side  of 
the  galley.  He  added  that  he  did  not  pre- 
tend to  say  what  he  might  or  might  not 
have  done  to  Compeyson,  but,  that  in  the 
moment  of  his  laying  his  hand  on  his  cloak 
to  identify  him,  that  villain  had  staggered 
up  and  staggered  back,  and  they  had  both 
gone  overboard  together  ;  when  the  sudden 
wrenching  of  him  (]\Iagwitch)  out  of  our 
boat,  and  the  endeavour  of  his  captor  to 
keep  him  in  it,  had  capsized  us.  He  told 
me  in  a  whisper  that  they  had  gone  do-svn, 
fiercely  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
that  there  had  been  a  struggle  under  water, 
and  that  he  had  diseno:ao;ed  himself,  struck 
out,  and  swum  away. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  261 

I  never  had  any  reason  to  doubt  the 
exact  truth  of  what  he  thus  told  me.  The 
officer  who  steered  the  galley  gave  the  same 
account  of  their  going  overboard. 

When  I  asked  this  officer's  permission  to 
change  the  prisoner's  wet  clothes  by  pur- 
chasing any  spare  garments  I  could  get  at 
the  public-house,  he  gave  it  readily :  merely 
observing  that  he  must  take  charge  of  every- 
thing his  prisoner  had  about  him.  So  the 
pocket-book  which  had  once  been  in  my 
hands,  passed  into  the  officer's.  He  further 
gave  me  leave  to  accompany  the  prisoner  to 
London  ;  but,  declined  to  accord  that  grace 
to  my  two  friends. 

The  flack  at  the  Ship  was  instructed 
where  the  drowned  man  had  gone  down, 
and  undertook  to  search  for  the  body  in  the 
places  where  it  was  likeliest  to  come  ashore. 
His  interest  in  its  recovery  seemed  to  me  to 
be  much  heightened  when  he  heard  that  it 
had  stockings  on.  Probably,  it  took  about 
a  dozen  drowned  men  to  fit  him  out  com- 
pletely ;  and  that  may  have  been  the  reason 
why  the  different  articles  of  his  dress  were 
in  various  stages  of  decay. 


262  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

We  remained  at  the  public-house  until 
the  tide  turned,  and  then  Magwitch  was 
carried  down  to  the  galley  and  put  on  board. 
Herbert  and  Startop  were  to  get  to  London 
by  land,  as  soon  as  they  could.  We  had  a 
doleful  parting,  and  when  I  took  my  place 
by  Magwitch's  side,  I  felt  that  that  was  my 
place  henceforth  while  he  lived. 

For  now,  my  repugnance  to  him  had  all 
melted  away,  and  in  the  hunted  wounded 
skackled  creature  Avho  held  my  hand  in  his,  I 
only  saw  a  man  who  had  meant  to  be  my 
benefactor,  and  who  had  felt  affectionately, 
gTatefully,  and  generously,  towards  me  with 
great  constancy  through  a  series  of  years. 
I  only  saw  in  him  a  much  better  man  than 
I  had  been  to  Joe. 

His  breathing  became  more  difficult  and 
painful  as  the  night  drew  on,  and  often  he 
could  not  repress  a  groan.  I  tried  to  rest 
him  on  the  arm  I  could  use,  in  any  easy 
position  ;  but,  it  was  dreadful  to  think  that 
I  could  not  be  sorry  at  heart  for  his  being 
badly  hurt,  since  it  was  unquestionably 
best  that  he  should  die.  That  there  were, 
still  living,  people  enough  who  were  able 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  263 

and  willing  to  identify  him,  I  could  not 
doubt.  That  he  would  be  leniently 
treated,  I  could  not  hope.  He  who  had 
been  presented  in  the  worst  light  at  his 
trial,  who  had  since  broken  prison  and  been 
tried  again,  who  had  returned  from  trans- 
portation under  a  life  sentence,  and  who 
had  occasioned  the  death  of  the  man  who 
was  the  cause  of  his  arrest. 

As  we  returned  towards  the  setting  sun 
we  had  yesterday  left  behind  us,  and  as  the 
stream  of  our  hopes  seemed  all  running 
back,  I  told  him  how  grieved  I  was  to  think 
that  he  had  come  home  for  my  sake. 

"Dear  boy,"  he  answered,  "I'm  quite 
content  to  take  my  chance.  I've  seen  my 
boy,  and  he  can  be  a  gentleman  without  me." 

No.  I  had  thought  about  that,  while  we 
had  been  there  side  by  side.  No.  Apart  from 
any  inclinations  of  my  own,  I  understand 
Wemmick's  hint  now.  I  foresaw  that,  beino- 
convicted,  his  possessions  would  be  forfeited 
to  the  Crown. 

"Lookee  here,  dear  boy,"  said  he.  "  It's 
best  as  a  gentleman  should  not  be  knowed 
to  belong  to  me  now.     Only  come  to  see 


264  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

me  as  if  you  come  by  chance  alonger  Wem- 
mick.  Sit  where  I  can  see  you  when  I  am 
swore  to,  for  the  last  o'  many  times,  and  I 
don't  ask  no  more." 

"  I  will  never  stir  from  your  side,"  said 
I,  "  when  I  am  suffered  to  be  near  you. 
Please  God,  I  Avill  be  as  true  to  you,  as  you 
have  been  to  me  ! " 

I  felt  his  hand  tremble  as  it  held  mine, 
and  he  turned  his  face  away  as  he  lay  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  I  heard  that 
old  sound  in  his  throat — softened  now,  like 
all  the  rest  of  him.  It  was  a  good  thing 
that  he  had  touched  this  point,  for  it  put 
into  my  mind  what  I  might  not  otherwise 
have  thought  of  until  too  late  :  That  he 
need  never  know  how  his  hopes  of  enriching 
me  had  perished. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  265 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

He  was  taken  to  the  Police  Court  next 
day,  and  would  have  been  immediately 
committed  for  trial,  but  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  send  down  for  an  old  officer  of  the 
prison-ship  from  which  he  had  once  escaped, 
to  speak  to  his  identity.  Nobody  doubted 
it ;  but,  Compeyson,  who  had  meant  to 
depose  to  it,  was  tumbling  on  the  tides, 
dead,  and  it  happened  that  there  was  not 
at  that  time  any  prison  officer  in  London 
who  could  give  the  required  evidence.  I 
had  gone  direct  to  Mr.  daggers  at  his  pri- 
vate house,  on  my  arrival  over-night,  to 
retain  his  assistance,  and  Mr.  daggers  on 
the  prisoner's  behalf  would  admit  nothing. 
It  was  the  sole  resource,  for  he  told  me  that 


266  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  case  must  be  over  in  five  minutes  Avlien 
the  witness  was  there,  and  that  no  power  on 
earth  could  prevent  its  going  against  us. 

I  imparted  to  Mr.  Jaggers  my  design  of 
keeping  him  in  ignorance  of  the  fate  of  his 
wealth.  Mr.  Jaggers  was  querulous  and 
angry  with  me  for  having  "  let  it  slip 
through  my  fingers,"  and  said  we  must  me- 
morialise by-and-by,  and  try  at  all  events 
for  some  of  it.  But,  he  did  not  conceal 
from  me  that  although  there  might  be  many 
cases  in  which  the  forfeiture  would  not  be 
exacted,  there  were  no  circumstances  in 
this  case  to  make  it  one  of  them.  I  under- 
stood that,  very  well.  I  was  not  related  to 
the  outlaw,  or  connected  with  him  by  any 
recognisable  tie  ;  he  had  put  his  hand  to  no 
writing  or  settlement  in  my  favour  before 
his  apprehension,  and  to  do  so  now  would 
be  idle.  I  had  no  claim,  and  I  finally  re- 
solved, and  ever  afterwards  abided  by  the 
resolution,  that  my  heart  should  never  be 
sickened  with  the  hopeless  task  of  attempting 
to  establish  one. 

There  appeared  to   be    reason   for   sup- 
posing  that    the    drowned    informer    had 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  267 

hoped  for  a  reward  out  of  this  forfeiture, 
and  had  obtamed  some  accurate  know- 
ledge of  Macavitch's  affaii's.  When  his 
body  was  found,  many  miles  from  the  scene 
of  his  death,  and  so  horribly  disfigured 
that  he  was  only  recognisable  by  the  con- 
tents of  his  pockets,  notes  were  still  legible, 
folded  in  a  case  he  carried.  Among  these, 
were  the  name  of  a  banking-house  in  Xew 
South  Wales  where  a  sum  of  money  Avas, 
and  the  designation  of  certain  lands  of  con- 
siderable value.  Both  these  heads  of  in- 
formation were  in  a  list  that  Magwitch, 
while  in  prison,  gave  to  Mr.  daggers,  of 
the  possessions  he  supposed  I  should  inherit. 
His  ignorance,  poor  fellow,  at  last  served 
him ;  he  never  mistrusted  but  that  my  in- 
heritance was  quite  safe,  A\ith  Mr.  Jaggers's 
aid. 

After  three  days'  delay,  during  which  the 
crown  prosecution  stood  over  for  the  pro- 
duction of  the  witness  from  the  prison-ship, 
the  mtness  came,  and  completed  the  easy 
case.  He  was  committed  to  take  his  trial  at 
the  next  Sessions,  which  would  come  on  in 
a  month. 


268  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

It  was  at  this  dark  time  of  my  life  that 
Herbert  returned  home  one  evening,  a  good 
deal  cast  down,  and  said : 

"My  dear  Handel,  I  fear  I  shall  soon 
have  to  leave  you." 

His  partner  having  prepared  me  for  that, 
I  was  less  surprised  than  he  thought. 

"  We  shall  lose  a  fine  opportunity  if  I 
put  off  going  to  Cairo,  and  I  am  very  much 
afraid  I  must  go,  Handel,  when  you  most 
need  me." 

"  Herbert,  I  shall  always  need  you,  be- 
cause I  shall  always  love  you ;  but  my  need 
is  no  greater  now,  than  at  another  time." 

"  You  will  be  so  lonely." 

"  I  have  not  leisure  to  think  of  that,"  said 
I.  "  You  know  that  I  am  always  with  him 
to  the  full  extent  of  the  time  allowed,  and 
that  I  should  be  with  him  all  day  long,  if  I 
could.  And  Avhen  I  come  away  from  him, 
you  know  that  my  thoughts  are  with  him." 

The  dreadful  condition  to  which  he  was 
brought,  was  so  appalling  to  both  of  us,  that 
we  could  not  refer  to  it  in  plainer  words. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Herbert,  "let  the 
near  prospect  of  our  separation — for,  it  is 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  269 

very  near — be  my  justification  for  troubling 
you  about  yourself.  Have  you  thought  of 
your  future  ?" 

"  No,  for  I  have  been  afraid  to  think  of 
any  future." 

"  But  yours  cannot  be  dismissed ;  indeed, 
my  dear  dear  Handel,  it  must  not  be  dis- 
missed. I  wish  you  would  enter  on  it  now, 
as  far  as  a  few  friendly  words  go,  with  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  I. 

"  In  this  branch  house  of  ours,  Handel, 
we  must  have  a " 

I  saw  that  his  delicacy  was  avoiding  the 
right  word,  so  I  said,  "  A  clerk." 

"  A  clerk.  And  I  hope  it  is  not  at  all 
unlikely  that  he  may  expand  (as  a  clerk 
of  your  acquaintance  has  expanded)  into  a 

partner.    Now,  Handel in  short,  my  dear 

boy,  will  you  come  to  me  ?" 

There  was  something  charmingly  cordial 
and  eno-agino:  in  the  manner  in  which  after 
saying  "Now,  Handel,"  as  if  it  were  the 
grave  beginning  of  a  portentous  business 
exordium,  he  had  suddenly  given  up  that 
tone,  stretched  out  his  honest  hand,  and 
spoken  like  a  schoolboy. 


270  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Clara  and  I  have  talked  about  it  again 
and  again,"  Herbert  pursued,  "  and  the  dear 
little  thing  begged  me  only  this  evening, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  say  to  you  that  if 
you  "svill  live  with  us  when  we  come  together, 
she  will  do  her  best  to  make  you  happy,  and 
to  convince  her  husband's  friend  that  he  is 
her  friend  too.  We  should  get  on  so  well, 
Handel!" 

I  thanked  her  heartily,  and  I  thanked  him 
heartily,  but  said  I  could  not  yet  make  sure 
of  joining  him  as  he  so  kindly  offered. 
Firstly,  my  mind  was  too  preoccupied  to  be 
able  to  take  in  the  subject  clearly.  Secondly 
^Yes  !  Secondly,  there  was  a  vague  some- 
thing lingering  in  my  thoughts  that  will 
come  out  very  near  the  end  of  this  slight 
narrative. 

"  But  if  you  thought,  Herbert,  that  you 
could,  without  doing  any  injury  to  your 
business,  leave  the  question  open  for  a  little 
while " 

"  For  any  while,"  cried  Herbert.  "  Six 
months,  a  year !" 

"  Not  so  long  as  that,"  said  I.  "  Two  or 
three  months  at  most." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  271 

Herbert  was  highly  delighted  when  we 
shook  hands  on  this  arrangement,  and  said 
he  could  now  take  courage  to  tell  me  that 
he  believed  he  must  go  away  at  the  end  of 
the  week. 

"And  Clara?"  said  I. 

"  The  dear  little  thing,"  returned  Herbert, 
"  holds  dutifully  to  her  father  as  long  as  he 
lasts ;  but  he  won't  last  long.  Mrs.  Whimple 
confides  to  me  that  he  is  certainly  going." 

"  Not  to  say  an  unfeeling  thing,"  said  I, 
"  he  cannot  do  better  than  go." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  must  be  admitted,"  said 
Herbert :  "  and  then  I  shall  come  back  for 
the  dear  little  thing,  and  the  dear  little  thing 
and  I  will  walk  quietly  into  the  nearest 
church.  Remember  !  The  blessed  darling 
comes  of  no  family,  my  dear  Handel,  and 
never  looked  into  the  red  book,  and  hasn't 
a  notion  about  her  grandpapa.  AVhat  a  for- 
tune for  the  son  of  my  mother !" 

On  the  Saturday  in  that  same  week,  I  took 
my  leave  of  Herbert — full  of  bright  hope, 
but  sad  and  sorry  to  leave  me — as  he  sat  on 
one  of  the  seaport  mail  coaches.  I  went 
into  a  coffee-house  to  write  a  little  -note  to 


272  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Clara,  telling  her  he  had  gone  off,  sending 
his  love  to  her  over  and  over  again,  and  then 
went  to  my  lonely  liome — if  it  deserved  the 
name,  for  it  was  now  no  home  to  me,  and  I 
had  no  home  anywhere. 

On  the  stairs  I  encountered  AVemmick, 
who  was  coming  down,  after  an  unsuccess- 
ful application  of  his  knuckles  to  my  door. 
I  had  not  seen  him  alone,  since  the  disas- 
trous issue  of  the  attempted  flight ;  and  he 
had  come,  in  his  private  and  personal  capa- 
city, to  say  a  few  words  of  explanation  in 
reference  to  that  failure. 

"  The  late  Compeyson,"  said  Wemmick, 
"  had  by  little  and  little  got  at  the  bottom 
of  half  of  the  regular  business  now  trans- 
acted, and  it  was  from  the  talk  of  some  of 
his  people  in  trouble  (some  of  his  people 
being  always  in  trouble)  that  I  heard  what 
I  did.  I  kept  my  ears  open,  seeming  to 
have  them  shut,  until  I  heard  that  he  was 
absent,  and  I  thought  that  would  be  the 
best  time  for  making  the  attempt.  I  can 
only  suppose  now,  that  it  was  a  part  of  his 
policy,  as  a  very  clever  man,  habitually  to 
deceive  his  own  instruments.     You   don't 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  273 

blame  me,  I  hope,  Mr.  Pip?     I  am  sure  I 
tried  to  serve  you,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  that,  Wemmick,  as  you 
can  be,  and  I  thank  you  most  earnestly  for 
all  your  interest  and  friendship." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much.  It's 
a  bad  job,"  said  Wenmiick,  scratching  his 
head,  "and  I  assure  you  I  haven't  been  so 
cut  up  for  a  long  time.  What  I  look  at,  is 
the  sacrifice  of  so  much  portable  property. 
Dear  me !" 

"  What  /  think  of,  AVemmick,  is  the  poor 
owner  of  the  property." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Wemmick.  "  Of 
course  there  can  be  no  objection  to  your 
being  sorry  for  him,  and  I'd  put  down  ii 
five-pound  note  myself  to  get  him  out  of  it. 
But  what  I  look  at,  is  this.  The  late  Com- 
peyson  having  been  beforehand  with  him  in 
intelligence  of  his  return,  and  being  so  de- 
termined to  bring  him  to  book,  I  do  not  think 
he  could  have  been  saved.  Whereas,  the 
portable  property  certainly  could  have  been 
saved.  That's  the  difference  between  the 
property  and  the  owner,  don't  you  see?" 

VOL.  III.  T 


274  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  invited  Wemmick  to  come  up-stairs,  and 
refresh  himself  with  a  glass  of  grog  before 
walking  to  Walworth.  He  accepted  the  in- 
vitation. While  he  was  drinking  his  mode- 
rate allowance,  he  said, -with  nothingto  lead  up 
to  it,  and  after  having  appeared  rather  fidgety : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  meaning  to 
take  a  holiday  on  Monday,  Mr.  Pip  ?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  have  not  done  such 
a  thitig  these  twelve  months." 

''  These  twelve  years,  more  likely,"  said 
Wemmick.  "  Yes.  I'm  going  to  take  a 
holiday.  More  than  that ;  I'm  going  to 
take  a  walk.  More  than  that;  I'm  going 
to  ask  you  to  take  a  walk  with  me." 

I  was  about  to  excuse  myself,  as  being 
but  a  bad  companion  just  then,  when  Wem- 
mick anticipated  me. 

"  I  know  your  engagements,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  know  you  are  out  of  sorts,  Mr.  Pip. 
But  if  you  could  oblige  me,  I  should  take  it 
as  a  kindness.  It  ain't  a  long  walk,  and  it's 
an  early  one.  Say  it  might  occupy  you'  (in- 
cluding breakfast  on  the  walk)  from  eight 
to  twelve.  Couldn't  you  stretch  a  point  and 
manage  it?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  275 

He  had  done  so  mucli  for  me  at  various 
times,  that  this  was  very  little  to  do  for  him. 
I  said  I  could  mana2:e  it — woidd  manaoe 
it — and  he  was  so  very  much  pleased  by  my 
acquiescence,  that  I  was  pleased  too.  At  his 
particular  request,  I  appointed  to  call  for 
him  at  the  Castle  at  half-past  eight  on  Mon- 
day morning,  and  so  we  parted  for  the 
time. 

Punctual  to  my  appointment,  I  rang  at 
the  Castle  gate  on  the  Monday  morning,  and 
was  received  by  Wemmick  himself:  who 
struck  me  as  looking  tighter  than  usual,  and 
having  a  sleeker  hat  on.  Within,  there 
were  two  glasses  of  rum-and-milk  prepared, 
and  two  biscuits.  The  Aged  must  have 
been  stirrino;  with  the  lark,  for,  o-lancino- 
into  the  perspective  of  his  bedroom,  I  ob- 
served that  his  bed  was  empty. 

When  we  had  fortified  ourselves  with  the 
rum-and-milk  and  biscuits,  and  were  o-oino; 
out  for  the  walk  with  that  training  prepara- 
tion on  us,  I  was  considerably  surprised  to 
see  Wemmick  take  up  a  fishing-rod,  and 
put  it  over  his  shoulder.  "  Why,  we  are 
not  going  fishing !"  said  I.  "  Xo,"  re- 
t2 


^76  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

turned  "Wcmmick,  "  but  I  like  to  walk  with 
one." 

I    thought   this    odd ;    however,    I    said 
nothing,  and  we  set  off.     We  went  towards 
Camberwc'll  Green,  and  when  we  were  there- 
abouts, Wemmick  said  suddenly : 
"  Halloa !     Here's  a  church !" 
There   was   nothing   very   surprising   in 
that;    but   again,   I  was  rather  surprised, 
when  he  said,  as  if  he  were  animated  by  a 
brilliant  idea  : 
"  Let's  go  in !" 

We  went  in,  Wemmick  leaving  his  fishing- 
rod  in  the  porch,  and  looked  all  round.  In 
the  mean  time,  Wemmick  was  diving  into 
his  coat-pockets,  and  getting  something  out 
of  paper  there. 

"  Halloa  !"  said  he.  "  Here's  a  couple  of 
pair  of  gloves !    Let's  put  'em  on !" 

As  the  gloves  were  white  kid  gloves,  and 
as  the  post-office  was  widened  to  its  utmost 
extent,  I  now  began  to  have  my  strong  sus- 
picions. They  were  strengthened  into  cer- 
tainty when  I  beheld  the  Aged  enter  at  a 
side  door,  escorting  a  lady. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  277 

"  Halloa !"  said  Wemmick.  "  Here's  Miss 
Skiffins  !     Let's  have  a  wedding." 

That  discreet  damsel  was  attired  as  usual, 
except  that  she  was  now  engaged  in  substi- 
tuting for  her  green  kid  gloves,  a  pair  of 
white.  The  Aged  was  likewise  occupied  in 
preparing  a  similar  sacrifice  for  the  altar  of 
Hymen.  The  old  gentleman,  however,  ex- 
perienced so  much  difficulty  in  getting  his 
gloves  on,  that  Wemmick  found  it  necessary 
to  put  him  with  his  back  against  a  pillar, 
and  then  to  get  behind  the  piUar  himself 
and  pull  away  at  them,  while  I  for  my  part 
held  the  old  gentleman  round  the  waist, 
that  he  might  present  an  equal  and  safe  re- 
sistance. By  dint  of  this  ingenious  scheme, 
his  gloves  were  got  on  to  perfection. 

The  clerk  and  clergyman  then  appearing, 
we  were  ranged  in  order  at  those  fatal  rails. 
True  to  his  notion  of  seeming  to  do  it  all 
without  preparation,  I  heard  AVemmick  say 
to  himself  as  he  took  something  out  of  his 
waistcoat-pocket  before  the  service  began, 
"Halloa!     Here's  a  ring !" 

I  acted  in  the  capacity  of  backer,  or  best- 


278  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

man,  to  tlic  bridegroom ;  while  a  little  limp 
pew  opener  in  a  soft  bonnet  like  a  baby's, 
made  a  feint  of  being  the  bosom  friend  of 
Miss  Skiffins.  The  responsibility  of  giving 
the  lady  away,  devolved  upon  the  Aged, 
^vhich  led  to  the  clerg-jTiian's  being  uninten- 
tionally scandalised,  and  it  liappened  thus. 
When  he  said,  "  AYho  givetli  this  woman  to 
be  married  to  this  man  ?"  the  old  gentleman, 
not  in  the  least  knowing  what  point  of  the 
ceremony  we  had  arrived  at,  stood  most 
amiably  beaming  at  the  ten  commandments. 
Upon  which,  the  clergyman  said  again, 
"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to 
this  man  ?"  The  old  gentleman  being  still 
in  a  state  of  most  estimable  unconsciousness, 
the  bridegroom  cried  out  in  liis  accustomed 
.voice,  "Now  Aged  P.  you  know;  who 
giveth  ?"  To  which  the  Aged  replied  wdth 
great  briskness,  before  saying  that  lie  gave, 
"  All  right,  John,  all  right,  my  boy !"  And 
the  clergyman  came  to  so  gloomy  a  pause 
upon  it,  that  I  had  doubts  for  the  moment 
whether  we  should  get  completely  married 
that  day. 

It  was  completely   done,    however,   and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  279 

wlien  we  were  going  out  of  church,  Wem- 
mick  took  the  cover  off  the  font,  and  put  his 
white  gloves  in  it,  and  put  the  cover  on 
again.  Mrs.  Wemmick,  more  heedful  of  the 
future,  put  her  white  gloves  in  her  pocket 
and  assumed  her  green.  "  ISfow^  Mr.  Pip," 
said  Wemmick,  triumphant^  shouldering 
the  fishing-rod  as  we  came  out,  "let  me  ask 
you  whether  anybody  would  suppose  this 
to  be  a  wedding  party !" 

Breakfast  had  been  ordered  at  a  pleasant 
little  tavern,  a  mile  or  so  away  upon  the 
rising-ground  beyond  the  Green  ;  and  there 
was  a  bagatelle  board  in  the  room,  in  case 
we  should  desire  to  unbend  our  minds  after 
the  solemnity.  It  was  pleasant  to  observe 
that  Mrs.   Wemmick  no  lono-er   unwound 

o 

Wemmick's  arm  when  it  adapted  itself  to 
her  figure,  but  sat  in  a  high-backed  chair 
against  the  wall,  like  a  violoncello  in  its  case, 
and  submitted  to  be  embraced  as  that  melo- 
dious instrument  might  have  done. 

We  had  an  excellent  breakfast,  and  when 
any  one  declined  anything  on  table,  Wem- 
mick said,  "  Provided  by  contract,  you 
know ;  don't  be  afraid  of  it !"'    I  drank  to 


280  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  new  couple,  drank  to  the  Aged,  drank 
to  the  Castle,  saluted  the  bride  at  parting, 
and  made  myself  as  agreeable  as  I  could. 

Wemmick  came  down  to  the  door  with 
me,  and  I  again  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
wished  him  joy. 

"  Thankee !"  said  Wemmick,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  She's  such  a  manager  of  fowls  you 
have  no  idea.  You  shall  have  some  eggs, 
and  judge  for  yourself.  I  say,  Mr.  Pip !" 
calling  me  back,  and  speaking  low.  "  This 
is  altogether  a  Walworth  sentiment,  please." 

"  I  understand.  Not  to  be  mentioned  in 
Little  Britain,"  said  I. 

Wemmick  nodded.  "  After  what  you  let 
out  the  other  day,  I\Ir.  Jaggers  may  as  well 
not  know  of  it.  He  might  think  my  brain 
was  softening,  or  something  of  the  kind." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  28 1 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

He  lay  in  prison  very  ill,  during  the 
whole  interval  between  his  committal  for 
trial,  and  the  coming  round  of  the  Sessions. 
He  had  broken  two  ribs,  they  had  wounded 
one  of  his  luno^s,  and  he  breathed  with  o-reat 
pain  and  difficulty,  which  increased  daily. 
It  was  a  consequence  of  his  hurt,  that  he 
spoke  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely  audible ; 
therefore,  he  spoke  very  little.  But,  he  was 
ever  ready  to  listen  to  me,  and  it  became 
the  first  duty  of  my  life  to  say  to  him,  and 
read  to  him,  what  I  knew  he  ought  to  hear. 

Being  far  too  ill  to  remain  in  the  common 
prison,  he  was  removed,  after  the  first  day 
or  so,  into  the  infirmary.     This  gave  me 


282  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

opportunities  of  being  with  him  that  I  could 
not  otherwise  have  had.  And  but  for  his 
illness  he  would  have  been  put  in  irons,  for 
he  was  regarded  as  a  determined  prison- 
breaker,  and  I  know  not  what  else. 

Although  I  saw  him  every  day,  it  was  for 
only  a  short  time  ;  hence,  the  regularly  re- 
curring spaces  of  our  separation  Avere  long 
enough  to  record  on  his  face  any  slight 
changes  that  occurred  in  his  physical  state. 
1  do  not  recollect  that  I  once  saw  any 
change  in  it  for  the  better ;  he  wasted,  and 
became  slowly  weaker  and  worse,  day  by 
day,  from  the  day  w^hen  the  prison  door 
closed  upon  him. 

The  kind  of  submission  or  resignation  that 
he  showed,  was  that  of  a  man  who  was  tired 
out.  I  sometimes  derived  an  impression, 
from  his  manner  or  from  a  whispered  word 
or  two  which  escaped  him,  that  he  pondered 
over  the  question  whether  he  might  have 
been  a  better  man  under  better  circum- 
stances. But,  he  never  justified  himself  by 
a  hint  tending  that  way,  or  tried  to  bend 
the  past  out  of  its  eternal  shape. 

It  happened  on  two  or  three  occasions  in 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  283 

my  presence,  that  his  desperate  reputation 
was  alluded  to  by  one  or  other  of  the  people 
in  attendance  on  him.  A  smile  crossed  his 
face  then,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  on  me  with 
a  trustful  look,  as  if  he  were  confident  that 
I  had  seen  some  small  redeeming  touch  in 
him,  even  so  long  ago  as  when  I  was  a  little 
child.  As  to  all  the  rest,  he  was  humble 
and  contrite,  and  I  never  knew  him  com- 
plain. 

When  the  Sessions  came  round,  Mr.  dag- 
gers caused  an  application  to  be  made  for 
the  postponement  of  his  trial  until  the  fol- 
lowing Sessions.  It  was  obviously  made 
with  the  assurance  that  he  could  not  Hve  so 
long,  and  was  refused.  The  trial  came  on 
at  once,  and,  when  he  was  put  to  the  bar, 
he  was  seated  in  a  chair.  No  objection  was 
made  to  my  getting  close  to  the  dock,  on 
the  outside  of  it,  and  holding  the  hand  that 
he  stretched  forth  to  me. 

The  trial  was  very  short  and  very  clear. 
Such  things  as  could  be  said  for  him,  were 
said  —  how  he  had  taken  to  industrious 
habits,  and  had  thriven  laAvfuUy  and  re- 
putably.   But,  nothing  could  unsay  the  fact 


284  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

that  he  had  returned,  and  was  there  in  pre- 
sence of  the  Judge  and  Jury.  It  was  im- 
possible to  try  him  for  that,  and  do  other- 
wise than  find  him  Guilty. 

At  that  time,  it  was  the  custom  (as  I 
learnt  from  my  terrible  experience  of  that 
Sessions)  to  devote  a  concluding  day  to  the 
passing  of  Sentences,  and  to  make  a  finish- 
ing efi'ect  with  the  Sentence  of  Death.  But 
for  the  indelible  picture  that  my  remem- 
brance now  holds  before  me,  I  could  scarcely 
believe,  even  as  I  ^vrite  these  words,  that  I 
saw  two-and-thirty  men  and  women  put 
before  the  Judge  to  receive  that  sentence 
together.  Foremost  among  the  two-and- 
thirty,  was  he ;  seated,  that  he  might  get 
breath  enough  to  keep  life  in  him. 

The  whole  scene  starts  out  again  in  the 
vivid  colours  of  the  moment,  down  to  the 
drops  of  April  rain  on  the  windows  of  the 
court,  glittering  in  the  rays  of  April  sun. 
Penned  in  the  dock,  as  I  again  stood  outside 
it  at  the  corner  with  his  hand  in  mine,  were 
the  two-and-thirty  men  and  women ;  some 
defiant,  some  stricken  with  terror,  some  sob- 
bing and  weeping,  some  covering  their  faces, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  285 

some  staring  gloomily  about.  There  had 
been  shrieks  from  among  the  women  eon- 
victs,  but  they  had  been  stilled,  and  a  hush 
had  succeeded.  The  sheriffs  with  their 
great  chains  and  nosegays,  other  civic  gew- 
gaws and  monsters,  criers,  ushers,  a  great 
gallery  full  of  people — a  large  theatrical 
audience — looked  on,  as  the  two-and-thirty 
and  the  Judge  were  solemnly  confronted. 
Then,  the  Judge  addressed  them.  Among 
the  wretched  creatures  before  him  whom  he 
must  single  out  for  special  address,  was  one 
who  almost  from  his  infancy  had  been  an 
offender  against  the  laws ;  who,  after  re- 
peated imprisonments  and  punishments,  had 
been  at  length  sentenced  to  exile  for  a  term 
of  years  ;  and  who,  under  circumstances  of 
great  violence  and  daring  had  made  his 
escape  and  been  re-sentenced  to  exile  for 
life.  That  miserable  man  would  seem  for  a 
time  to  have  become  convinced  of  his  errors, 
when  far  removed  from  the  scenes  of  his  old 
offences,  and  to  have  lived  a  peaceable  and 
honest  life.  But  in  a  fatal  moment,  yielding 
to  those  propensities  and  passions,  the  in- 
dulijence  of  whfch  had  so  lon«-  rendered  him 


286  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  scourge  to  society,  he  had  quitted  his 
haven  of  rest  and  repentance,  and  had  come 
back  to  the  country  Avhere  he  was  pro- 
scribed. Being  here  presently  denounced, 
he  ?iad  for  a  time  succeeded  in  evading  the 
officers  of  Justice,  but  being  at  length  seized 
while  in  the  act  of  flight,  he  had  resisted 
them,  and  had — he  best  knew  whether  by 
express  design,  or  in  the  blindness  of  his 
hardihood — caused  the  death  of  his  de- 
nouncer, to  whom  his  whole  career  was 
kno^m.  The  appointed  punishment  for  his 
return  to  the  land  that  had  cast  him  out, 
being  Death,  and  his  case  being  this  aggra- 
vated case,  he  must  prepare  himself  to  Die. 
The  sun  was  striking  in  at  the  great  win- 
dows of  the  court,  through  the  glittering 
drops  of  rain  upon  the  glass,  and  it  made  a 
broad  shaft  of  li2;ht  between  the  two-and- 
thirty  and  the  Judge,  linking  both  together, 
and  perhaps  reminding  some  among  the 
audience,  how  both  were  passing  on,  with 
absolute  equality,  to  the  greater  Judgment 
that  knoweth  all  things  and  cannot  err. 
Rising  for  a  moment,  a  distinct  speck  of  face 
in  this  way  of  light,  the  prisoner  said,  "  My 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  287 

Lord,  I  have  received  my  sentence  of  Death 
from  the  Almighty,  but  I  bow  to  yours," 
and  sat  down  again.  There  was  some  hush- 
ing, and  the  Judge  went  on  with  what  he 
had  to  say  to  the  rest.  Then,  they  were  all 
formally  doomed,  and  some  of  them  were 
supported  out,  and  some  of  them  sauntered 
out  Avith  a  haggard  look  of  bravery,  and  a 
few  nodded  to  the  gallery,  and  two  or  three 
shook  hands,  and  others  went  out  chemng 
the  fragments  of  herb  they  had  taken  from 
the  sweet  herbs  lying  about.  He  went  last 
of  all,  because  of  having  to  be  helped  from 
his  chair  and  to  go  very  slowly ;  and  he 
held  my  hand  while  all  the  others  were  re- 
moved, and  while  the  audience  got  up  (put- 
ting their  dresses  right,  as  they  might  at 
church  or  elsewhere)  and  pointed  doA\ai  at 
this  criminal  or  at  that,  and  most  of  all  at 
him  and  me. 

I  earnestly  hoped  and  prayed  that  he 
might  die  before  the  Recorder's  Report  was 
made,  but,  in  the  dread  of  his  lingering  on, 
I  began  that  night  to  ^YYite  out  a  petition  to 
the  Home  Secretary  of  State,  setting  forth 
my  knowledge  of  him,  and  how  it  was  that 


288  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

he  had  come  back  for  my  sake.  I  wrote  it 
as  fervently  and  pathetically  as  I  could,  and 
when  I  had  finished  it  and  sent  it  in,  I 
wTote  out  other  petitions  to  such  men  in 
authority  as  I  hoped  were  the  most  merci- 
ful, and  drew  up  one  to  the  Crown  itself. 
For  several  days  and  nights  after  he  was 
sentenced  I  took  no  rest  except  when  I  fell 
asleep  in  my  chair,  but  was  wholly  absorbed 
in  these  appeals.  And  after  I  had  sent 
them  in,  I  could  not  keep  away  from  the 
places  where  they  were,  but  felt  as  if  they 
were  more  hopeful  and  less  desperate  when 
I  was  near  them.  In  this  unreasonable  rest- 
lessness and  pain  of  mind,  I  would  roam 
the  streets  of  an  evening,  wandering  by  those 
offices  and  houses  where  I  had  left  the  peti- 
tions. To  the  present  hour,  the  weary 
western  streets  of  London  on  a  cold  dusty 
spring  night,  Avith  their  ranges  of  stern 
shut-up  mansions  and  their  long  rows  of 
lamps,  are  melancholy  to  me  from  this  asso- 
ciation. 

The  daily  visits  I  could  make  him  were 
shortened  now,  and  he  was  more  strictly 
kept.     Seeing,  or  fancying,  that  I  was  sus- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  289 

pected  of  an  intention  of  carrying  poison  to 
him,  I  asked  to  be  searched  before  I  sat 
down  at  his  bedside,  and  told  the  officer 
who  was  always  there,  that  I  was  willing 
to  do  anything  that  would  assure  him  of 
the  singleness  of  my  designs.  Nobody  was 
hard  with  him,  or  with  me.  There  was 
duty  to  be  done,  and  it  was  done,  but  not 
harshly.  The  officer  always  gave  me  the 
assurance  that  he  was  worse,  and  some  other 
sick  prisoners  in  the  room,  and  some  other 
prisoners  who  attended  on  them  as  sick 
nurses  (malefactors,  but  not  incapable  of 
kindness,  God  be  thanked !),  always  joined 
in  the  same  report. 

As  the  days  went  on,  I  noticed  more  and 
more  that  he  would  lie  placidly  looking  at 
the  white  ceiling,  with  an  absence  of  light 
in  his  face,  until  some  word  of  mine  bright- 
ened it  for  an  instant,  and  then  it  would 
subside  again.  Sometimes  he  was  almost, 
or  quite,  unable  to  speak;  then,  he  would 
answer  me  with  slight  pressures  on  my  hand, 
and  I  grew  to  understand  his  meaning  very 
well. 

The  number   of  the    days  had  risen  to 

VOL.  III.  u 


290  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ten,  whei^  I  saw  a  greater  change  iu  him 
than  I  had  seen  yet.  His  eyes  were  turned 
towards  the  door,  and  lighted  up  as  I  en- 
tered. 

"  Dear  boy,"  he  said,  as  I  sat  down  by 
his  bed :  "  I  thought  you  was  late.  But  I 
knowed  you  couldn't  be  that." 

"It  is  just  the  time,"  said  I.  "I  waited 
for  it  at  the  gate." 

"  You  always  waits  at  the  gate ;  don't 
you,  dear  boy?" 

"  Yes.  Not  to  lose  a  moment  of  the 
time." 

"  Thank'ee  dear  boy,  thank'ee.  God 
bless  you !  You've  never  deserted  me, 
dear  boy." 

I  pressed  his  hand  in  silence,  for  I  could 
not  forget  that  I  had  once  meant  to  desert 
him. 

"  And  what's  the  best  of  all,"  he  said, 
"you've  been  more  comfortable  alonger  me, 
since  I  was  under  a  dark  cloud,  than  when 
the  sun  shone.     That's  best  of  all." 

He  lay  on  his  back,  breathing  with  great 
difficulty.      Do  wiiat  he   would,    and  love 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  291 

me  though  he  did,  the  light  left  his  face 
ever  and  again,  and  a  film  came  over  the 
placid  look  at  the  white  ceiling. 

"  Are  you  in  much  pain  to  day?" 

"  I  don't  complain  of  none,  dear  boy." 

"  You  never  do  complain." 

He  had  spoken  his  last  words.  He  smiled, 
and  I  understood  his  touch  to  mean  that  he 
wished  to  lift  my  hand,  and  lay  it  on  his 
breast.  I  laid  it  there,  and  he  smiled  again, 
and  put  both  his  hands  upon  it. 

The  allotted  time  ran  out,  while  Ave  were 
thus ;  but,  looking  round,  I  found  the  gover- 
nor of  the  prison  standing  near  me,  and  he 
whispered,  "  You  needn't  go  yet."  I  thanked 
him  gratefully,  and  asked,  "  Might  I  speak 
to  him,  if  he  can  hear  me  ?" 

The  governor  stepped  aside,  and  beckoned 
the  officer  away.  The  change,  though  it 
was  made  without  noise,  drew  back  the  film 
from  the  placid  look  at  the  white  ceiling, 
and  he  looked  most  afiectionately  at  me. 

"  Dear  Magwitch,  I  must  tell  you,  now  at 
last.     You  understand  what  I  say  ?" 

A  gentle  pressure  on  my  lian  1. 
u2 


292  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  You  had  a  child  once,  whom  you  loved 
and  lost." 

A  stronger  pressure  on  my  hand. 

"  She  lived  and  found  powerful  friends. 
She  is  living  now.  She  is  a  lady  and  very 
beautiful.     And  I  love  her !" 

With  a  last  faint  effort,  which  would  have 
been  powerless  but  for  my  yielding  to  it  and 
assisting  it,  he  raised  my  hand  to  his  lips. 
Then,  he  gently  let  it  sink  upon  his  breast 
again,  with  his  own  hands  lying  on  it.  The 
placid  look  at  the  white  ceiling  came  back, 
and  passed  away,  and  his  head  dropped 
quietly  on  his  breast. 

Mindful,  then,  of  what  we  had  read  to- 
gether, I  thought  of  the  two  men  who  went 
up  into  the  Temple  to  pray,  and  I  knew 
there  were  no  better  words  that  I  could  say 
beside  his  bed,  than  "  0  Lord,  be  merciful 
to  him,  a  sinner !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  293 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Now  that  I  was  left  wholly  to  myself,  I 
gave  notice  of  my  intention  to  quit  the 
chambers  in  the  Temple  as  soon  as  my  te- 
nancy could  legally  determine,  and  in  the 
mean  while  to  underlet  them.  At  once  I 
put  bills  up  in  the  windows ;  for,  I  Avas  in 
debt,  and  had  scarcely  any  money,  and 
began  to  be  seriously  alarmed  by  the  state 
of  my  affairs.  I  ought  rather  to  Avrite  that 
I  should  have  been  alarmed  if  I  had  had 
energy  and  concentration  enough  to  help 
me  to  the  clear  perception  of  any  truth 
beyond  the  fact  that  I  was  falling  very  iU. 
The  late  stress  upon  me  had  enabled  me  to 
put  off  illness,  but  not  to  put  it  away;  I  knew 
that  it  was  coming  on  me  now,  and  I  knew 


294  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

very  little  else,  and  was  even  careless  as  to 
that. 

For  a  day  or  two,  I  lay  on  the  sofa,  or  on 
the  floor — anywhere,  according  as  I  hap- 
pened to  sink  down — with  a  heavy  head 
and  aching  limbs,  and  no  purpose,  and  no 
power.  Then  there  came,  one  night  which 
appeared  of  great  duration,  and  which 
teemed  with  anxiety  and  horror ;  and  when 
in  the  morning  I  tried  to  sit  up  in  my 
bed  and  think  of  it,  I  found  I  could  not 
do  so. 

Whether  I  really  had  been  down  in  Garden- 
court  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  groping 
about  for  the  boat  that  I  supposed  to  be 
there;  whether  I  had  two  or  three  times 
come  to  myself  on  the  staircase  mth  great 
terror,  not  knowing  how  I  had  got  out  of 
bed ;  whether  I  had  found  myself  lighting 
the  lamp,  possessed  by  the  idea  that  he  was 
coming  up  the  stairs,  and  that  the  lights 
were  blo^^^l  out ;  whether  I  had  been  inex- 
pressibly harassed  by  the  distracted  talking, 
laug-hins;,  and  oToanincr,  of  some  one,  and  had 
half  suspected  those  sounds  to  be  of  my 
own   making ;  whether   there    had  been  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  295 

closed  iron  furnace  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
room,  and  a  voice  had  called  out  over  and 
over  ao-ain  that  Miss  Havisham  was  con- 
suming  A^ithin  it ;  these  were  things  that  I 
tried  to  settle  with  myself  and  get  into  some 
order,  as  I  lay  that  morning  on  my  bed. 
But,  the  vapour  of  a  limekiln  would  come 
between  me  and  them,  disordering  them  all, 
and  it  was  through  the  vapour  at  last  that  I 
saw  two  men  looking  at  me. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  I  asked,  starting; 
"  I  don't  know  you." 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  one  of  them,  bend- 
ing down  and  touching  me  on  the  shoulder, 
"  this  is  a  matter  that  you'll  soon  arrange,  I 
dare  say,  but  you're  arrested." 

"What  is  the  debt?" 

"  Hundred  and  twenty-three  pound,  fif- 
teen, six.     Jeweller's  account,  I  think." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  You  had  better  come  to  my  house,"  said 
the  man.     "I  keep  a  very  nice  house." 

I  made  some  attempt  to  get  up  and  dress 
myself.  When  I  next  attended  to  them, 
they  were  standing  a  little  off  from  the  bed, 
looking  at  me.     I  still  lay  there. 


296  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"You  see  my  state,"  said  I.  "I  would 
come  with  you  if  I  could  ;  but  indeed  I  am 
quite  unable.  If  you  take  me  from  here,  I 
think  I  shall  die  by  the  way." 

Perhaps  they  replied,  or  argued  the  point, 
or  tried  to  encourage  me  to  believe  that  I 
was  better  than  I  thought.  Forasmuch  as 
they  hang  in  my  memory  by  only  this  one 
slender  thread,  I  don't  know  Avhat  they  did, 
except  that  they  forbore  to  remove  me. 

That  I  had  a  fever  and  was  avoided,  that 
I  suffered  greatly,  that  I  often  lost  my  rea- 
son, that  the  time  seemed  interminable,  that 
I  confounded  impossible  existences  with  my 
own  identity;  that  I  was  a  brick  in  the  house- 
wall,  and  yet  entreating  to  be  released  from 
the  giddy  place  where  the  builders  had  set 
me ;  that  I  was  a  steel  beam  of  a  vast  engine, 
clashing  and  Avhirling  over  a  gulf,  and  yet 
that  I  implored  in  my  own  person  to  have 
the  engine  stopped,  and  my  part  in  it 
hammered  off;  that  I  passed  through  these 
phases  of  disease,  I  know  of  my  own  re- 
membrance, and  did  in  some  sort  know  at 
the  time.  That  I  sometimes  struggled  with 
real  people,   in  the  belief  that  they  were 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  297. 

murderers,  and  that  I  would  all  at  once 
comprehend  that  they  meant  to  do  me  good, 
and  would  then  sink  exhausted  in  their 
arms,  and  suffer  them  to  lay  me  doA\Ti, 
I  also  knew  at  the  time.  But,  above  all,  I 
knew  that  there  was  a  constant  tendency  in 
all  these  people — who,  when  I  was  very  ill, 
would  present  all  kinds  of  extraordinary 
transformations  of  the  human  face,  and 
would  be  much  dilated  in  size — above  all,  I 
say,  I  knew  that  there  was  an  extraordinary 
tendency  in  all  these  people,  sooner  or  later 
to  settle  do^vn  into  the  likeness  of  Joe. 

After  I  had  turned  the  worst  point  of 
my  illness,  I  began  to  notice  that  while  all 
its  other  features  changed,  this  one  con- 
sistent feature  did  not  change.  AVhoever 
came  about  me,  still  settled  do'svn  into  Joe. 
I  opened  my  eyes  in  the  night,  and  I  saw 
in  the  great  chair  at  the  bedside,  Joe.  I 
opened  my  eyes  in  the  day,  and,  sitting  on 
the  window-seat,  smoking  his  pipe  in  the 
shaded  open  window,  still  I  saw  Joe.  I 
asked  for  cooling  drink,  and  the  dear  hand 
that  gave  it  me  was  Joe's.  I  sank  back 
on  my  pillow  after  drinking,  and  the  face 


.298  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

that  looked  so  hopefully  and  tenderly  upon 
me  was  the  face  of  Joe. 

At  last,  one  day,  I  took  courage,  and  said, 
"/.s' it  Joe?" 

And  the  dear  old  home-voice  answered, 
"  Which  it  air,  old  chap." 

"  0  Joe,  you  break  my  heart !  Look 
angry  at  me,  Joe.  Strike  me,  Joe.  Tell 
me  of  my  ingratitude.  Don't  be  so  good 
to  me !" 

For,  Joe  had  actually  laid  his  head  down 
on  the  pillow  at  my  side  and  put  his  arm 
round  my  neck,  in  his  joy  that  I  knew 
him. 

1  "Which  dear  old  Pip,  old  chap,"  said 
Joe,  "you  and  me  was  ever  friends.  And 
when  you're  well  enough  to  go  out  for  a 
ride — what  larks !" 

After  which,  Joe  withdrew  to  the  window, 
and  stood  with  his  back  towards  me,  ■\^'iping 
his  eyes.  And  as  my  extreme  weakness 
prevented  me  from  getting  up  and  going  to 
him,  I  lay  there,  penitently  whispering,  "  O 
God  bless  him !  0  God  bless  this  gentle 
Christian  man  !" 

Joe's  eyes  were  red  when  I  next  found 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  299 

him  beside  me ;  but,  I  was  holding  his  hand, 
and  we  both  felt  happy. 

"How  lono^,  dear  Joe?" 

"  Which  you  meantersay,  Pip,  how  long 
have  your  illness  lasted,  dear  old  chap  ?" 

"  Yes,  Joe." 

"  It's  the  end  of  May,  Pip.  To-morrow 
is  the  first  of  June." 

"And  have  you  been  here  all  the  time, 
dear  Joe?" 

"Pretty  nigh,  old  chap.  For,  as  I  says 
to  Biddy  when  the  news  of  your  being  ill 
were  brought  by  letter,  which  it  were 
brought  by  the  post  and  being  formerly 
single  he  is  now  married  though  underpaid 
for  a  deal  of  walking  and  shoe-leather,  but 
wealth  were  not  a  object  on  his  part,  and 
marriaofe  were  the  o;reat  wish  of  his 
hart " 


"It  is  so  delightful  to  hear  you,  Joe! 
But  I  interrupt  you  in  what  you  said  to 
Biddy." 

"  Which  it  were,"  said  Joe,  "  that  how  you 
might  be  amongst  strangers,  and  that  how 
you  and  me  having  been  ever  friends,  a 
wisit  at  such  a  moment  might  not  prove  un- 


300  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

acceptabobble.  And  Biddy,  her  word  were, 
*  Go  to  him,  without  loss  of  time.'  That," 
said  Joe,  summing  up  with  his  judicial  air, 
"  were  the  word  of  Biddy.  '  Go  to  him,' 
Biddy  say,  '  without  loss  of  time.'  In  short, 
I  shouldn't  gi'eatly  deceive  you,"  Joe  added, 
after  a  little  grave  reflection,  "if  I  repre- 
sented to  you  that  the  word  of  that  young 
woman  were,  '  without  a  minute's  loss  of 
time.' " 

There  Joe  cut  himself  short,  and  informed 
me  that  I  was  to  be  talked  to  in  gi-eat  mode- 
ration, and  that  I  was  to  take  a  little  nou- 
rishment at  stated  frequent  times,  whether 
I  felt  inclined  for  it  or  not,  and  that  I  was 
to  submit  myself  to  all  his  orders.  So,  I 
kissed  his  hand,  and  lay  quiet,  while  he  pro- 
ceeded to  indite  a  note  to  Biddy,  with  my 
love  in  it. 

Evidently,  Biddy  had  taught  Joe  to  Avrite. 
As  I  lay  in  bed  looking  at  him,  it  made  me, 
in  my  weak  state,  cry  again  with  pleasure 
to  see  the  pride  with  which  he  set  about  his 
letter.  My  bedstead,  divested  of  its  curtains, 
had  been  removed,  with  me  upon  it,  into 
the  sitting-room,  as  the  airiest  and  largest, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  301 

and  the  carpet  had  been  taken  away,  and 
the  room  kept  always  fresh  and  whole- 
some night  and  day.  At  my  oa\ti  wTiting- 
table,  pushed  into  a  corner  and  cumbered 
with  little  bottles,  Joe  now  sat  down  to  his 
great  work,  first  choosing  a  pen  from  the 
pen-tray  as  if  it  were  a  chest  of  large  tools, 
and  tucking  up  his  sleeves  as  if  he  were 
going  to  wield  a  crowbar  or  sledge-hammer. 
It  was  necessary  for  Joe  to  hold  on  heavily 
to  the  table  with  his  left  elbow,  and  to  get 
his  right  leg  well  out  behind  him,  before  he 
could  begin,  and  when  he  did  begin,  he 
made  every  down-stroke  so  slowly  that  it 
might  have  been  six  feet  long,  while  at  every 
up-stroke  I  could  hear  his  pen  spluttering 
extensively.  He  had  a  curious  idea  that 
the  inkstand  was  on  the  side  of  him  where 
it  was  not,  and  constantly  dipped  his  pen 
into  space,  and  seemed  quite  satisfied  'R'ith 
the  result.  Occasionally,  he  was  tripped  up 
by  some  orthographical  stumbling-block, 
but  on  the  whole  he  got  on  very  well  indeed, 
and  when  he  had  signed  his  name,  and  had 
removed  a  finishing  blot  from  the  paper  to 
the  crown  of  his  head  with  his  two  forefin- 


302  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

gers,  he  got  up  and  hovered  about  the  table, 
trying  the  effect  of  his  performance  from 
various  points  of  view  as  it  lay  there,  with 
unbounded  satisfaction. 

Not  to  make  Joe  uneasy  by  talking  too 
much,  even  if  I  had  been  able  to  talk  much, 
I  deferred  asking  him  about  Miss  Havi- 
sham  until  next  day.  He  shook  his  head 
when  I  then  asked  him  if  she  had  recovered. 

"  Is  she  dead,  Joe  ?" 

"Why  you  see,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  in  a 
tone  of  remonstrance,  and  by  way  of  getting 
at  it  by  degrees,  "  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that,  for  that's  a  deal  to  say;  but  she 
ain't " 

"Living,  Joe?" 

"That's  nigher  where  it  is,"  said  Joe; 
"  she  ain't  living." 

"  Did  she  linger  long,  Joe  ?" 

"Arter  you  was  took  ill,  pretty  much 
about  what  you  might  call  (if  you  was  put 
to  it)  a  week,"  said  Joe;  still  determined, 
on  my  account,  to  come  at  everything  by 
degrees. 

"  Dear  Joe,  have  you  heard  what  becomes 
of  her  property  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  303 

■'  Well,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  "  it  do  appear 
that  she  had  settled  the  most  of  it,  which  I 
meantersay  tied  it  up,  on  Miss  Estella.  But 
she  had  wrote  out  a  little  coddleshell  in  her 
own  hand  a  day  or  two  afore  the  accident, 
leaving  a  cool  four  thousand  to  Mr.  Matthew 
Pocket.  And  why,  do  you  suppose,  above 
all  things,  Pip,  she  left  that  cool  four  thou- 
sand unto  him  ?  '  Because  of  Pip's  account 
of  him  the  said  Matthew.'  I  am  told  by 
Biddy,  that  air  the  writing,"  said  Joe,  re- 
peating the  legal  turn  as  if  it  did  him 
infinite  good,  "  '  account  of  him  the  said 
Matthew.'  And  a  cool  four  thousand, 
Pip !" 

I  never  discovered  from  whom  Joe  de- 
rived the  conventional  temperature  of  the 
four  thousand  pounds,  but  it  appeared  to 
make  the  sum  of  money  more  to  him,  and 
he  had  a  manifest  relish  in  insisting  on  its 
being  cool. 

This  account  gave  me  great  joy,  as  it  per- 
fected the  only  good  thing  I  had  done.  I 
asked  Joe  whether  he  had  heard  if  any  of 
the  other  relations  had  any  legacies  ? 

"  Miss  Sarah,"  said  Joe,  "she  have  twenty- 


304  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

five  pound  perannium  fur  to  buy  pills,  on 
account  of  being  bilious.     Miss  Georgiana, 

she   have  twenty  pound  down.     Mrs. 

what's  the  name  of  them  Avild  beasts  with 
humps,  old  chap  ?" 

"  Camels ?"  said  I,  Mondering  why  he 
could  possibly  want  to  know. 

Joe  nodded.  "  Mrs.  Camels,"  by  which 
I  presently  understood  he  meant  Camilla, 
"  she  have  five  pound  fur  to  buy  rushlights 
to  put  her  in  spirits  when  she  wake  up  in 
the  night." 

The  accuracy  of  these  recitals  was  suffi- 
ciently obvious  to  me,  to  give  me  great  con- 
fidence in  Joe's  information.  "  And  now," 
said  Joe,  "you  ain't  that  strong  yet,  old 
chap,  that  you  can  take  in  more  nor  one 
additional  shovel-full  to-day.  Old  Orlick 
he's  been  a  bustin'  open  a  dwelling-ouse." 

"Whose?"  said  I. 

"  Not,  I  grant  you,  but  what  his  manners  is 
given  to  blusterous,"  said  Joe,  apologeticall}"; 
"  still,  a  Englishman's  ouse  is  his  Castle,  and 
castles  must  not  be  busted  'cept  when  done 
in  war  time.     And  wotsume'er  the  failings 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  305 

on  his  part,  he  were  a  corn  and  seedsman  in 
his  hart." 

"  Is  it  Puinblechook's  house  that  has  been 
broken  into,  then  ?" 

"  That's  it,  Pip,"  said  Joe ;  "  and  they 
took  his  till,  and  they  took  his  cash-box, 
and  they  drinked  his  wine,  and  they  par- 
took of  his  "wittles,  and  they  slapped  his 
face,  and  they  pulled  his  nose,  and  they  tied 
him  up  to  his  bedpust,  and  they  giv'  him  a 
dozen,  and  they  stuffed  his  mouth  full  of 
flowering  annuals  to  prewent  his  crying  out. 
But  he  knowed  Orlick,  and  Orlick's  in  the 
county  jail." 

By  these  approaches  we  arrived  at  unre- 
stricted conversation.  I  was  slow  to  gain 
strength,  but  I  did  slowly  and  surely  become 
less  weak,  and  Joe  stayed  with  me,  and  I 
fancied  I  was  little  Pip  again. 

For,  the  tenderness  of  Joe  was  so  beauti- 
fully proportioned  to  my  need,  that  I  was 
like  a  child  in  his  hands.  He  would  sit  and 
talk  to  me  in  the  old  confidence,  and  with 
the  old  simplicity,  and  in  the  old  unassertive 
protecting  way,  so  that  I  would  half  believe 

VOL.  III.  X 


306  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

that  all  my  life  since  the  days  of  the  old 
kitchen  was  one  of  the  mental  troubles  of 
the  fever  that  was  gone.  He  did  ever}-- 
thing  for  me  except  the  household  work, 
for  which  he  had  engaged  a  very  decent 
woman,  after  paying  off  the  laundress  on 
his  first  arrival,  "  Which  I  do  assure  you, 
Pip,"  he  would  often  say,  in  explanation  of 
that  liberty ;  "I  found  her  a  tapping  the 
spare  bed,  like  a  cask  of  beer,  and  drawing 
off  the  feathers  in  a  bucket,  for  sale.  Which 
she  would  have  tapped  yourn  next,  and 
draw'd  it  off  with  you  a  laying  on  it,  and 
was  then  a  carrying  away  the  coals  gradi- 
wally  in  the  soup-tureen  and  wegetable- 
dishes,  and  the  wine  and  spirits  in  your 
AVellington  boots." 

We  looked  forward  to  the  day  when  I 
should  go  out  for  a  ride,  as  we  had  once 
looked  forAvard  to  the  day  of  my  appren- 
ticeship. And  when  the  day  came,  and  an 
open  carriage  was  got  into  the  Lane,  Joe 
wrapped  me  up,  took  me  in  his  arms,  car- 
ried me  down  to  it,  and  put  me  in,  as  if  I 
were   still    the   small   helpless   creature   to 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  307 

whom  lie  had  so  abundantly  given  of  the 
wealth  of  his  great  nature. 

And  Joe  got  in  beside  me,  and  we  drove 
away  together  into  the  country,  where  the 
rich  summer  growth  was  already  on  the  • 
trees  and  on  the  grass,  and  sweet  summer 
scents  filled  all  the  air.  The  day  happened 
to  be  Sunday,  and  when  I  looked  on  the 
loveliness  around  me,  and  thought  how  it 
had  gTOwn  and  changed,  and  how  the  little 
wild  flowers  had  been  forming,  and  the 
voices  of  the  birds  had  been  strengthening, 
by  day  and  by  night,  under  the  sun  and 
under  the  stars,  while  poor  I  lay  burning 
and  tossing  on  my  bed,  the  mere  remem- 
brance of  havins;  burned  and  tossed  there, 
came  like  a  check  upon  my  peace.  But, 
when  I  heard  the  Sunday  bells,  and  looked 
around  a  little  more  upon  the  outspread 
beauty,  I  felt  that  I  was  not  nearly  thankful 
enough — ^that  I  was  too  weak  yet,  to  be 
even  that — and  I  laid  my  head  on  Joe's 
shoulder,  as  I  had  laid  it  long  ago  when  he 
had  taken  me  to  the  Fair  or  where  not,  and 
it  was  too  much  for  my  young  senses. 
x2 


308  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

More  composure  came  to  me  after  a  while, 
and  we  talked  as  we  used  to  talk,  lying  on 
the  grass  at  the  old  Battery,  There  was  no 
change  whatever  in  Joe.  Exactly  what  he 
had  been  in  my  eyes  then,  he  was  in  my 
eyes  still;  just  as  simply  faithful,  and  as 
simply  right. 

When  we  got  back  again  and  he  lifted  me 
out,  and  carried  me — so  easily — across  the 
court  and  up  the  stairs,  I  thought  of 
that  eventful  Christmas  Day  when  lie  had 
carried  me  over  the  marshes.  We  had  not 
yet  made  any  allusion  to  my  change  of  for- 
tune, nor  did  I  know  how  much  of  my  late 
history  he  was  acquainted  Avith,  I  was  so 
doubtful  of  myself  now,  and  jDut  so  much 
trust  in  him,  that  I  could  not  satisfy  myself 
whether  I  ought  to  refer  to  it  when  he  did 
not. 

''  Have  you  heard,  Joe,"  I  asked  him  that 
evening,  upon  further  consideration,  as  he 
smoked  his  pipe  at  the  window,'."  who  my 
patron  was?" 

"  I  heerd,"  returned  Joe,  "  as  it  were  not 
Miss  Havisham,  old  chap." 

"  Did  you  hear  who  it  was,  Joe?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  dOd 

"  Well !  I  lieerd.as  it  were  a  person  "svhat 
sent  the  person  what  giv'  you  the  bank-notes 
at  the  Jolly  Bargemen,  Pip." 

"So  it  was." 

"  Astonishing !"  said  Joe,  in  the  placidest 
way. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  he  was  dead,  Joe?" 
I  presently  asked,  with  increasing  diffi- 
dence. 

"  Which  ?  Him  as  sent  the  bank-notes, 
Pip?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  think,"  said  Joe,  after  meditating  a 
long  time,  and  looking  rather  evasively  at 
the  window-seat,  "  as  I  did  hear  tell  that 
how  he  were  something  or  another  in  a 
general  way  in  that  direction." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  of  his  circum- 
stances, Joe?" 

"  Not  partickler,  Pip." 

"  If  you  would  like  to  hear,  Joe "  I 

was  beginning,  when  Joe  got  up  and  came 
to  my  sofa. 

"  Lookee  here,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  bend- 
ing over  me.  "Ever  the  best  of  friends; 
ain't  us,  Pip  ?" 


310  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  was  ashamed  to  answer  him. 

''  Wery  good,  then,"  said  Joe,  as  if  I  had 
answered ;  "  that's  all  right ;  that's  agreed 
upon.  Then  why  go  into  subjects,  old  chap, 
which  as  betwixt  two  sech  must  be  for  ever 
onnecessary '?  There's  subjects  enough  as 
betwixt  two  sech,  without  onnecessary  ones. 
Lord!  To  think  of  your  poor  sister  and 
her  Rampages!  And  don't  you  remember 
Tickler?" 

"  I  do  indeed,  Joe." 

"  Lookee  here,  old  chap,"  said  Joe.  "  I 
done  what  I  could  to  keep  you  and  Tickler 
in  sunders,  but  my  power  were  not  always 
fuUy  equal  to  my  inclinations.  For  when 
your  poor  sister  had  a  mind  to  drop  into 
you,  it  were  not  so  much,"  said  Joe,  in  his 
favourite  argumentative  way,  "  that  she 
dropped  into  me  too,  if  I  put  myself  in  op- 
position to  her  but  that  she  dropped  into 
you  always  heavier  for  it.  I  noticed  that. 
It  ain't  a  grab  at  a  man's  whisker,  nor  yet 
a  shake  or  two  of  a  man  (to  which  your 
sister  was  quite  M^elcome),  that  'ud  put  a 
man  off  from  getting  a  little  child  out  of 
punishment.     But  when  that  little  child  is 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  311 

dropped  into,  heavier,  for  that  grab  of  whis- 
ker or  shaking,  then  that  man  naterally  up 
and  says  to  himself,  '  Where  is  the  good  as 
you  are  a  doing?  I  grant  you  I  see  the 
'arm,'  says  the  man,  'but  I  don't  see  the 
good.  I  call  upon  you,  sir,  theerfore,  to 
pint  out  the  good.'  " 

"The  man  says?"  I  observed,  as  Joe 
waited  for  me  to  speak. 

"  The  man  says,"  Joe  assented.  "  Is  he 
right,  that  man  ?  " 

"  Dear  Joe,  he  is  always  right." 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  "  then  abide 
by  your  words.  If  he's  always  right  (which 
in  general  he's  more  likely  wrong),  he's 
right  when  he  says  this : — Supposing  ever 
you  kep  any  little  matter  to  yourself,  when 
you  was  a  little  child,  you  kep  it  mostly 
because  you  know'd  as  J.  Gargery's  power 
to  part  you  and  Tickler  in  sunders,  were 
not  fully  equal  to  his  inclinations.  Theer- 
fore, think  no  more  of  it  as  betwixt  two 
sech,  and  do  not  let  us  pass  remarks  upon 
onnecessary  subjects.  Biddy  giv'  herself  a 
deal  o'  trouble  with  me  afore  I  left  (for  I 
am  most  awful  dull),  as  I  should  view  it  in 


312  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

this  light,  and,  viewing  it  in  this  light,  as  I 
should  so  put  it.  Both  of  which,"  said  Joe, 
quite  charmed  with  his  logical  arrangement, 
"  being  done,  now  this  to  you  a  true  friend, 
say.  Namely.  You  mustn't  go  a  over-doing 
on  it,  but  you  must  have  your  supper 
and  your  wine-and-water,  and  you  must 
be  put  betwixt  the  sheets." 

The  delicacy  with  which  Joe  dismissed 
this  theme,  and  the  sweet  tact  and  kindness 
with  which  Biddy — who  with  her  woman's 
wit  had  found  me  out  so  soon — had  pre- 
pared him  for  it,  made  a  deep  impression 
on  my  mind.  But  whether  Joe  knew  how 
poor  I  was,  and  how  my  great  expectations 
had  all  dissolved,  like  our  o-svn  marsh 
mists  before  the  sun,  I  could  not  under- 
stand. 

Another  thing  in  Joe  that  I  could  not 
understand  when  it  first  began  to  develop 
itself,  but  which  I  soon  arrived  at  a  sorrow- 
ful comprehension  of,  was  this :  As  I  be- 
came stronger  and  better,  Joe  became  a 
little  less  easy  with  me.  In  my  weakness 
and  entire  dependence  on  him,  the  dear 
fellow  had   fallen   into   the  old  tone,  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  313 

called  me  by  the  old  names,  the  dear  "  old 
Pip,  old  chap,"  that  now  were  music  in  my 
ears.  I  too  had  fallen  into  the  old  ways, 
only  happy  and  thankftd  that  he  let  me. 
But,  imperceptibly,  though  I  held  by  them 
fast,  Joe's  hold  upon  them  began  to  slacken; 
and  whereas  I  wondered  at  this,  at  first,  I 
soon  began  to  understand  that  the  cause  of 
it  was  in  me,  and  that  the  fault  of  it  was  all 
mine. 

Ah !  Had  I  given  Joe  no  reason  to 
doubt  my  constancy,  and  to  think  that  in 
prosperity  I  should  grow  cold  to  him  and 
cast  him  off?  Had  I  given  Joe's  innocent 
heart  no  cause  to  feel  instinctively  that  as  I 
got  stronger,  his  hold  upon  me  would  be 
weaker,  and  that  he  had  better  loosen  it  in 
time  and  let  me  go,  before  I  plucked  myself 
away? 

It  was  on  the  third  or  fourth  occasion  of 
my  going  out  walking  in  the  Temple  Gar- 
dens leaning  on  Joe's  arm,  that  I  saw  this 
change  in  him  very  plainly.  We  had  been 
sitting  in  the  bright  warm  sunlight,  looking 
at  the  river,  and  I  chanced  to  say  as  we  got 
up: 


314  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  See,  Joe !  I  can  walk  quite  strongly. 
Now,  you  shall  see  me  walk  back  by  my- 
self." 

"Which  do  not  over-do  it,  Pip,"  said 
Joe ;  "  but  I  shall  be  happy  fur  to  see  you 
able,  sir." 

The  last  word  grated  on  me ;  but  how 
could  I  remonstrate !  I  walked  no  further 
than  the  gate  of  the  gardens,  and  then  pre- 
tended to  be  weaker  than  I  was,  and  asked 
Joe  for  his  arm.  Joe  gave  it  me,  but  was 
thoughtful. 

I,  for  my  part,  was  thoughtfid  too ;  for, 
how  best  to  check  this  growing  change  in 
Joe,  was  a  great  perplexity  to  my  remorseful 
thoughts.  That  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  him 
exactly  how  I  was  placed,  and  what  I  had 
come  down  to,  I  do  not  seek  to  conceal ; 
but,  I  hope  my  reluctance  was  not  quite  an 
unworthy  one.  He  would  want  to  help  me 
out  of  his  little  savings,  I  knew",  and  I  knew 
that  he  ought  not  to  help  me,  and  that  I 
must  not  suffer  him  to  do  it. 

It  was  a  thouo;htful  eveninoj  with  both  of 
US.  But,  before  we  went  to  bed,  I  had  re- 
solved that  I  would  ^vait  over  to-morrow, 
to-morrow  being  Sunday,  and  woidd  begin 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  315 

my  new  course  Avith  the  new  week.  On 
Monday  morning  I  would  speak  to  Joe 
about  this  change,  I  would  lay  aside  this 
last  vestige  of  reserve,  I  would  teU  him 
what  I  had  in  my  thoughts  (that  Secondly, 
not  yet  arrived  at),  and  why  1  had  not  de- 
cided to  go  out  to  Herbert,  and  then  the 
change  would  be  conquered  for  ever.  As  I 
cleared,  Joe  cleared,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
he  had  S5niipathetically  arrived  at  a  resolu- 
tion too. 

We  had  a  quiet  day  on  the  Sunday,  and 
we  rode  out  into  the  country,  and  then 
walked  in  the  fields. 

"  I  feel  thankful  that  I  have  been  ill, 
Joe,"  I  said. 

"Dear  old  Pip,  old  chap,  you're  a  most 
come  round,  sir." 

"It  has  been  a  memorable  time  for  me, 
Joe." 

"  Likeways  for  myself,  sir,"  Joe  returned. 

"We  have  had  a  time  together,  Joe,  that 
I  can  never  forget.  There  were  days  once, 
I  know,  that  I  did  for  a  while  forget ;  but 
I  never  shall  forget  these." 

"  Pip,"  said  Joe,  appearing  a  little  hurried 
and  troubled,  "  there  has  been  larks.     And, 


316  GREAT  EXTECTATIONS. 

dear  sir,  what  have  been  betwixt  us — have 
been." 

At  night,  when  I  had  gone  to  bed,  Joe 
came  into  my  room,  as  he  had  done  all 
through  my  recovery.  He  asked  me  if  I 
felt  sure  that  I  was  as  well  as  in  the  morn- 
ing? 

"  Yes,  dear  Joe,  quite." 

"  And  are  always  a  getting  stronger,  old 
chap  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Joe,  steadily." 

Joe  patted  the  coverlet  on  my  shoulder 
with  his  great  good  hand,  and  said,  in 
what  I  thought  a  husky  voice,  "  Good 
night !" 

When  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  refreshed 
and  stronger  yet,  I  was  fuU  of  my  resolution 
to  tell  Joe  all,  without  delay.  I  would  tell 
him  before  breakfast.  I  Avould  dress  at 
once  and  go  to  his  room  and  surprise  him ; 
for,  it  was  the  first  day  I  had  been  up  early. 
I  went  to  his  room,  and  he  was  not  there. 
Not  only  was  he  not  there,  but  his  box  was 
gone. 

I  hurried  then  to  the  breakfast-table,  and 
on  it  found  a  letter.  These  were  its  brief 
contents. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  317 

"  Not  wishful  to  intrude  I  have  departured  fur 
you  are  well  again  dear  Pip  and  will  do  better 
without  "  Jo. 

«P.S.  Ever  the  best  of  friends." 

Enclosed  in  the  letter,  was  a  receipt  for 
the  debt  and  costs  on  which  I  had  been 
arrested.  Do"\vn  to  that  moment  I  had  vainly 
supposed  that  my  creditor  had  withdrawn 
or  suspended  proceedings  until  I  should  be 
quite  recovered.  1  had  never  dreamed  of 
Joe's  having  paid  the  money ;  but,  Joe  had 
paid  it,  and  the  receipt  was  in  his  name. 

What  remained  for  me  noAV,  but  to  follow 
him  to  the  dear  old  forge,  and  there  to  have 
out  my  disclosure  to  him,  and  my  penitent 
remonstrance  with  him,  and  there  to  re- 
lieve my  mind  and  heart  of  that  reserved 
Secondly,  Avhich  had  began  as  a  vague  some- 
thing lingering  in  my  thoughts,  and  had 
formed  into  a  settled  purpose  ? 

The  purpose  was,  that  I  would  go  to 
Biddy,  that  I  would  show  her  how  humbled 
and  repentant  I  came  back,  that  I  would  tell 
her  how  I  had  lost  all  I  once  hoped  for,  that 
I  would  remind  her  of  our  old  confidences 
in  my  first  unhappy  time.  Then,  I  would 
say  to  her,  "  Biddy,  I  think  you  once  liked 


318  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

me  very  well,  when  my  errant  heart,  even 
while  it  strayed  away  from  you,  was  quieter 
and  better  with  you  than  it  ever  has  been 
since.  If  you  can  like  me  only  half  as  well 
once  more,  if  you  can  take  me  Avith  all  my 
faults  and  disappointments  on  my  head, 
if  you  can  receive  me  like  a  forgiven  child 
(and  indeed  I  am  as  sorry,  Biddy,  and  have 
as  much  need  of  a  hushing  voice  and  a 
soothing  hand),  I  hope  I  am  a  little  wor- 
thier of  you  than  I  was — ^not  much,  but  a 
little.  And,  Biddy,  it  shall  rest  with  you  to 
say  whether  I  shall  work  at  the  forge  mth 
Joe,  or  whether  I  shall  try  for  any  different 
occupation  down  in  this  country,  or  whether 
we  shall  go  away  to  a  distant  place  where 
an  opportunity  awaits  me,  which  I  set  aside 
when  it  was  offered,  until  I  knew  j^our  an- 
swer. And  now,  dear  Biddy,  if  you  can  tell 
me  that  you  will  go  through  the  world  with 
me,  you  will  surely  make  it  a  better  Avorld 
for  me,  and  me  a  better  man  for  it,  and  1  will 
try  hard  to  make  it  a  better  world  for  you." 
Such  was  my  purpose.  After  three  days 
more  of  recovery,  I  went  down  to  the  old 
place,  to  put  it  in  execution;  and  how  I 
sped  in  it,  is  all  I  have  left  to  tell. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  tidings  of  my  high  fortunes  having 
had  a  heav}^  fall,  had  got  down  to  my  native 
place  and  its  neighbourhood,  before  I  got 
there.  I  found  the  Blue  Boar  in  possession 
of  the  intelligence,  and  I  found  that  it  made 
a  great  change  in  the  Boar's  demeanour. 
Whereas  the  Boar  had  cultivated  my  good 
opinion  with  warm  assiduity  w^hen  I  was 
coming  into  property,  the  Boar  was  exceed- 
ingly cool  on  the  subject  now  that  I  was 
going  out  of  property. 

It  was  evening  when  I  arrived,  much 
fatigued  by  the  journey  I  had  so  often 
made  so  easily.  The  Boar  could  not  put 
me  into  my  usual  bedroom,  which  was  en- 


320  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

gaged  (probably  by  some  one  who  had  ex- 
pectations), and  could  only  assign  me  a  very 
indifFerent  chamber  among  the  pigeons  and 
post-chaises  up  the  yard.  But,  I  had  as 
sound  a  sleep  in  that  lodging  as  in  the  most 
superior  accommodation  the  Boar  could 
have  given  me,  and  the  quality  of  my 
dreams  was  about  the  same  as  in  the  best 
bedroom. 

Early  in  the  morning  while  my  breakfast 
was  getting  ready,  I  strolled  round  by  Satis 
House.  There  were  printed  bills  on  the 
gate,  and  on  bits  of  carpet  hanging  out  of 
the  windows,  announcing  a  sale  by  auction 
of  the  Household  Furniture  and  Effects, 
next  week.  The  House  itself  was  to  be  sold 
as  old  building  materials  and  pulled  down. 
Lot  1  was  marked  in  whitewashed  knock- 
knee  letters  on  the  brewhouse;  Lot  2  on 
that  part  of  the  main  building  which  had 
been  so  long  shut  up.  Other  lots  were 
marked  off  on  other  parts  of  the  structure, 
and  the  ivy  had  been  torn  down  to  make 
room  for  the  inscriptions,  and  much  of  it 
trailed  low  in  the  dust  and  was  withered 
already.     Stepping  in  for  a  moment  at  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  321 

open  gate  and  looking  around  me  with  the 
uncomfortable  air  of  a  stranger  who  had  no 
business  there,  I  saw  the  auctioneer's  clerk 
walking  on  the  casks  and  telling  them  off 
for  the  information  of  a  catalogue-compiler, 
pen  in  hand,  who  made  a  temporary  desk 
of  the  wheeled  chair  I  had  so  often  pushed 
along  to  the  tune  of  Old  Clem. 

When  I  got  back  to  my  breakfast  in  the 
Boar's  coffee-room,  I  found  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook  conversing  with  the  landlord.  i\Ir. 
Pumblechook  (not  improved  in  appearance 
by  his  late  nocturnal  adventure)  was  wait- 
ing for  me,  and  addressed  me  in  the  follow- 
ing terms, 

"Young  man,  I  am  sorry  to  see  you 
brought  low.  But  what  else  could  be  ex- 
pected !     What  else  could  be  expected !" 

As  he  extended  his  hand  with  a  magni- 
ficently forgiving  air,  and  as  I  was  broken 
by  illness  and  unfit  to  quarrel,  I  took  it. 

"  William,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook  to  the 
waiter,  "  put  a  mufiin  on  table.  And  has 
it  come  to  this !    Has  it  come  to  this !" 

I  frowningly  sat  down  to  my  breakfast. 
Mr.  Pumblechook  stood  over  me  and  poured 

VOL.  III.  Y 


322  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

out  my  tea — before  I  could  touch  the  teapot 
— with  the  air  of  a  benefactor  who  was  re- 
solved to  be  true  to  the  last. 

"  William,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook, mourn- 
fully, "  put  the  salt  on.  In  happier  thnes," 
addressing  me,  "I  think  you  took  sugar? 
And  did  you  take  milk  ?  You  did.  Sugar 
and  milk.     AVilliam,  bring  a  watercress." 

"Thank  you,"  said  I,  shortly,  "but  I 
don't  eat  watercresses." 

"  You  don't  eat  'em,"  returned  Mr.  Pum- 
blechook, sighing  and  nodding  his  head 
several  times,  as  if  he  might  have  expected 
that,  and  as  if  abstinence  from  watercresses 
were  consistent  with  my  do"\vnfal.  "  True. 
The  simple  fruits  of  the  earth.  No.  You 
needn't  bring  any,  William." 

I  went  on  with  my  breakfast,  and  Mr. 
Pumblechook  continued  to  stand  over  me, 
staring  fishily  and  breathmg  noisily,  as  he 
always  did. 

"  Little  more  than  skin  and  bone !"  mused 
Mr.  Pumblechook,  aloud.  "  And  yet  when 
he  went  away  from  here  (I  may  say  with 
my  blessing),  and  I  spread  afore  him  my 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  323 

humble  store,  like  the  Bee,  he  was  as  plump 
as  a  Peach !" 

This  reminded  me  of  the  wonderful  dif- 
ference between  the  servile  manner  in  which 
he  had  offered  his  hand  in  my  new  pros- 
perity, saying,  "  May  I  ?"  and  the  ostenta- 
tious clemency  with  which  he  had  just  now 
exhibited  the  same  fat  five  fingers. 

"  Hah !"  he  went  on,  handing  me  the 
bread-and-butter.  "  And  air  you  a  going  to 
Joseph  ?" 

"  In  Heaven's  name,"  said  I,  firing  in  spite 
of  myself,  "  what  does  it  matter  to  you  where 
I  am  going  ?     Leave  that  teapot  alone." 

It  was  the  worst  course  I  could  have 
taken,  because  it  gave  Pumblechook  the  op- 
portunity he  wanted. 

'^  Yes,  young  man,"  said  he,  releasing  the 
handle  of  the  article  in  question,  retiring  a 
step  or  two  from  my  table,  and  speaking  for 
the  behoof  of  the  landlord  and  waiter  at  the 
door,  "  I  icUl  leave  that  teapot  alone.  You 
are  right,  young  man.  For  once,  you  are 
right.  I  forgit  myself  when  I  take  such  an 
interest  in  your  breakfast,  as  to  wish  your 
y2 


324  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

frame,  exhausted  by  the  debilitating  effects 
of  prodigygality,  to  be  stimilated  by  the 
'olesome  nourishment  of  your  forefathers. 
And  yet,"  said  Pumblechook,  turning  to  the 
landlord  and  waiter,  and  pointing  me  out  at 
arm's  length,  "this  is  him  as  I  ever  sported 
with  in  his  days  of  happy  infancy  !  Tell  me 
not  it  cannot  be ;  I  tell  you  this  is  him  !" 

A  low  murmur  from  the  two  replied.  The 
waiter  appeared  to  be  particularly  affected. 

"This  is  him,"  said  Pumblechook,  "as  I 
have  rode  in  my  shay-cart.  This  is  him  as  I 
have  seen  brought  up  by  hand.  This  is  him 
untoe  the  sister  of  which  I  was  uncle  by 
marriaoje,  as  her  name  was  Georg-iana  IM'ria 
from  her  own  mother,  let  him  deny  it  if  he 
can  !" 

The  waiter  seemed  convinced  that  I  could 
not  deny  it,  and  that  it  gave  the  case  a 
black  look. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Pumblechook,  screw- 
ing his  head  at  me  in  the  old  fashion,  "you 
air  a  going  to  Joseph.  What  does  it  matter 
to  me,  you  ask  me,  where  you  air  a  going  ? 
I  say  to  you.  Sir,  you  air  a  going  to 
Joseph." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  325 

The  waiter  coughed,  as  if  he  modestly  in- 
vited me  to  get  over  that. 

"Now,"  said  Pumblechook,  and  all  this 
with  a  most  exasperating  air  of  saying  in 
the  cause  of  virtue  what  was  perfectly  con- 
vincing and  conclusive,  "I  will  tell  you 
what  to  say  to  Joseph.  Here  is  Squires  of 
the  Boar  present,  known  and  respected  in 
this  to^vn,  and  here  is  William,  which  his 
father's  name  was  Potkins  if  I  do  not  de- 
ceive myself" 

"  You  do  not,  sir,"  said  William. 

"  In  their  presence,"  pursued  Pumble- 
chook, "  I  will  tell  you,  young  man,  what 
to  say  to  Joseph.  Says  you,  '  Joseph,  I  have 
this  day  seen  my  earliest  benefactor  and  the 
founder  of  my  fortun's.  I  will  name  no 
names,  Joseph,  but  so  they  are  pleased  to 
call  him  up-town,  and  I  have  seen  that 
man. 

"  I  swear  I  don't  see  him  here,"  said  I. 

"  Say  that  likewise,"  retorted  Pumble- 
chook. "  Say  you  said  that,  and  even  Joseph 
will  probably  betray  surprise." 

"  There  you  quite  mistake  him,"  said  I. 
"  I  know  better." 


326  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Says  you,"  Pumblechook  went  on, 
" '  Joseph,  I  have  seen  that  man,  and  that 
man  bears  you  no  malice  and  bears  me  no 
malice.  He  knows  your  character,  Joseph,  and 
is  well  acquainted  with  your  pig-headedness 
and  ignorance  ;  and  he  knows  my  character, 
Joseph,  and  he  knows  my  want  of  grati- 
toode.  Yes,  Joseph,'  says  you,"  here  Pum- 
blechook shook  his  head  and  hand  at  me, 
"  '  he  knows  my  total  deficiency  of  common 
human  gratitoode.  He  knows  it,  Joseph, 
as  none  can.  You  do  not  know  it,  Joseph, 
having  no  call  to  know  it,  but  that  man 
do.'  " 

Windy  donkey  as  he  was,  it  really  amazed 
me  that  he  could  have  the  face  to  talk  thus 
to  mine. 

"  Says  you,  '  Joseph,  he  gave  me  a  little 
message,  which  I  will  now  repeat.  It  was, 
that  in  my  being  brought  low,  he  saw  the 
finger  of  Providence.  He  knowed  that 
finger  when  he  saw  it,  Joseph,  and  he  saw 
it  plain.  It  pinted  out  this  writing,  Joseph. 
Bernard  of  ingratitoode  to  Ids  earliest  hene- 
f actor ^  and  founder  of  fortunes.  But  that 
man  said  that  he  did  not  repent  of  what  he 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  327 

had  done,  Joseph.  Not  at  all.  It  was  right 
to  do  it,  it  was  kind  to  do  it,  it  was  benevo- 
lent to  do  it,  and  he  would  do  it  again.' " 

"  It's  a  pity,"  said  I,  scornfully,  as  I 
finished  my  interrupted  breakfast,  "  that 
the  man  did  not  say  what  he  had  done  and 
would  do  again." 

"  Squires  of  the  Boar !"  Pumblechook  was 
now  addressing  the  landlord,  "  and  William ! 
I  have  no  objections  to  your  mentioning, 
either  up-town  or  do^\ai-to-s\Ti,  if  such  should 
be  your  wishes,  that  it  was  right  to  do  it, 
kind  to  do  it,  benevolent  to  do  it,  and  that 
I  would  do  it  again." 

With  those  words  the  Impostor  shook 
them  both  by  the  hand,  with  an  air,  and  left 
the  house ;  leaving  me  much  more  astonished 
than  delighted  by  the  virtues  of  that  same 
indefinite  "  it."  I  was  not  long  after  him  in 
leaving  the  house  too,  and  when  I  went 
down  the  High-street  I  saw  him  holding 
forth  (no  doubt  to  the  same  efi'ect)  at  his 
shop  door  to  a  select  group,  who  honoured 
me  with  very  unfavourable  glances  as  I 
passed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way. 

But,  it  was  only  the  pleasanter  to  turn  to 


328  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Biddy  and  to  Joe,  whose  great  forbearance 
shone  more  brightly  than  before,  if  that 
could  be,  contrasted  -with  this  brazen  pre- 
tender. I  went  towards  them  slowly,  for 
my  limbs  were  weak,  but  Avith  a  sense  of  in- 
creasing relief  as  I  drew  nearer  to  them,  and 
a  sense  of  leavino;  arro2:ance  and  untruthful- 
ness  further  and  further  behind. 

The  June  weather  was  delicious.  The  sky 
was  blue,  the  larks  were  soaring  high  over 
the  green  corn,  I  thought  all  that  country- 
side more  beautiful  and  peaceful  by  far  than 
I  had  ever  known  it  to  be  yet.  Many  plea- 
sant pictures  of  the  life  that  I  would  lead 
there,  and  of  the  change  for  the  better  that 
would  come  over  my  character  when  I  had 
a  guiding  spirit  at  my  side  whose  simple 
faith  and  clear  home-wisdom  I  had  proved, 
beguiled  my  way.  They  awakened  a  tender 
emotion  in  me ;  for,  my  heart  was  softened 
by  my  return,  and  such  a  change  had  come 
to  pass,  that  I  felt  like  one  who  was  toiling 
home  barefoot  from  distant  travel,  and  whose 
wanderings  had  lasted  many  years. 

The  schoolhouse  where  Biddy  was  mistress, 
I  had  never  seen ;  but,  the  little  roundabout 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  329 

lane  by  which  I  entered  the  village  for  quiet- 
ness' sake,  took  me  past  it.  I  was  disap- 
pointed to  find  that  the  day  was  a  holiday ; 
no  children  were  there,  and  Biddy's  house 
was  closed.  Some  hopeful  notion  of  seeing 
her  busily  engaged  in  her  daily  duties,  before 
she  saw  me,  had  been  in  my  mind  and  was 
defeated. 

But,  the  forge  Avas  a  very  short  distance 
off,  and  I  went  towards  it  under  the  sweet 
green  limes,  listening  for  the  chnk  of  Joe's 
hammer.  Long  after  I  ought  to  have  heard 
it,  and  long  after  I  had  fancied  I  heard  it 
and  found  it  but  a  fancy,  all  was  still.  The 
limes  were  there,  and  the  white  thorns  were 
there,  and  the  chesnut-trees  were  there,  and 
their  leaves  rustled  hai-moniously  when  I 
stopped  to  listen ;  but,  the  clink  of  Joe's 
hammer  was  not  in  the  midsummer  A\dnd. 

Almost  fearing,  without  knowing  why,  to 
come  in  view  of  the  forge,  I  saw  it  at  last, 
and  saw  that  it  was  closed.  Ko  gleam  of 
fire,  no  glittering  shower  of  sparks,  no  roar 
of  bellows ;  all  shut  up,  and  still. 

But,  the  house  was  not  deserted,  and  the 
best  parlour  seemed  to  be  in  use,  for  there 


330  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

were  white  curtains  fluttering  in  its  window, 
and  tlie  window  was  open  and  gay  with 
flowers.  I  went  softly  towards  it,  meaning 
to  peep  over  the  flowers,  when  Joe  and 
Biddy  stood  before  me,  arm  in  arm. 

At  first  Biddy  gave  a  cry,  as  if  she  thought 
it  was  my  apparition,  but  in  another  moment 
she  was  in  my  embrace.  1  wept  to  see  her, 
and  she  wept  to  see  me;  I,  because  she 
looked  so  fresh  and  pleasant ;  she,  because  I 
looked  so  worn  and  white. 

"  But  dear  Biddy,  how  smart  you  are !" 

"  Yes,  dear  Pip." 

"  And  Joe,  how  smart  you  are !" 

"  Yes,  dear  old  Pip,  old  chap." 

I  looked  at  both  of  them,  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  then 

"  It's  my  wedding-day,"  cried  Biddy,  in 

a  burst  of  happiness,  "  and  I  am  married  to 

Joe!" 

***** 

They  had  taken  me  into  the  kitchen,  and 
I  had  laid  my  head  down  on  the  old  deal 
table.  Biddy  held  one  of  my  hands  to  her 
lips,  and  Joe's  restoring  touch  was  on  my 
shoulder.     ' '  Which  he  Avarn't  strong  enough, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  331 

my  dear,  fur  to  be  surprised,"  said  Joe.  And 
Biddy  said,  "  I  ouglit  to  have  thought  of  it, 
dear  Joe,  but  I  was  too  happy."  They  were 
both  so  overjoyed  to  see  me,  so  proud  to  see 
me,  so  touched  by  my  coming  to  them,  so 
delighted  that  I  should  have  come  by  acci- 
dent to  make  their  day  complete ! 

My  first  thought  was  one  of  great  thank- 
fulness that  I  had  never  breathed  this  last 
baffled  hope  to  Joe.  How  often,  while  he 
was  with  me  in  my  iUness,  had  it  risen  to 
my  lips.  How  irrevocable  would  have  been 
his  knowledge  of  it,  if  he  had  remained  with 
me  but  another  hour  ! 

""  Dear  Biddy,"  said  I,  "  you  have  the 
best  husband  in  the  whole  world,  and  if  you 
could  have  seen  him  by  my  bed  you  would 

have But   no,    you    couldn't   love   him 

better  than  you  do." 

"No,  I  couldn't  indeed,"  said  Biddy. 

"  And,  dear  Joe,  you  have  the  best  wife 
in  the  whole  world,  and  she  will  make  you 
as  happy  as  even  you  deserve  to  be,  you 
dear,  good,  noble  Joe !" 

Joe  looked  at  me  with  a  quivering  lip, 
and  fairly  put  his  sleeve  before  his  eyes. 


332  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  And  Joe  and  Biddy  both,  as  you  have 
been  to  church  to-day,  and  are  in  charity 
and  love  with  all  mankind,  receive  my 
humble  thanks  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me,  and  all  I  have  so  ill  repaid !  And  when 
I  say  that  I  am  going  away  within  the  hour, 
for  I  am  soon  going  abroad,  and  that  I  shall 
never  rest  until  I  have  worked  for  the  money 
with  which  you  have  kept  me  out  of  prison, 
and  have  sent  it  to  you,  don't  think,  dear  Joe 
and  Biddy,  that  if  I  could  repay  it  a  thou- 
sand times  over,  I  suppose  I  could  cancel  a 
farthing  of  the  debt  I  owe  you,  or  that  I 
would  do  so  if  I  could !" 

They  were  both  melted  by  these  words, 
and  both  entreated  me  to  say  no  more. 

"  But  I  must  say  more.  Dear  Joe,  I  hope 
you  will  have  children  to  love,  and  that  some 
little  fellow  will  sit  in  this  chimney  corner 
of  a  winter  night,  who  may  remind  you  of 
another  little  fellow  gone  out  of  it  for  ever. 
Don't  tell  him,  Joe,  that  I  was  thankless ; 
don't  tell  him,  Biddy,  that  I  was  ungenerous 
and  unjust ;  only  tell  him  that  I  honoured 
you  both,  because  you  were  both  so  good 
and  true,  and  that,  as  your  child,  I  said  it 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  333 

would  be  natural  to  him  to  grow  up  a  much 
better  man  than  I  did." 

"  I  ain't  a  going,"  said  Joe,  from  behind 
his  sleeve,  "  to  tell  him  nothink  o'  that 
natur,  Pip.  Nor  Biddy  ain't.  Nor  yet  no 
one  ain't." 

"  And  now,  though  I  know  you  have  al- 
ready done  it  in  your  own  kind  hearts,  pray 
tell  me,  both,  that  you  forgive  me  !  Pray  let 
me  hear  you  say  the  words,  that  I  may  carry 
the  sound  of  them  away  with  me,  and  then 
I  shall  be  able  to  believe  that  you  can  trust 
me,  and  think  better  of  me,  in  the  time  to 
come  !" 

"  0  dear  old  Pip,  old  chap,"  said  Joe. 
"  God  knows  as  I  forgive  you,  if  I  have 
anythink  to  forgive !" 

"  Amen  !  And  God  knows  I  do !"  echoed 
Biddy. 

"  Now  let  me  go  up  and  look  at  my  old 
little  room,  and  rest  there  a  few  minutes  by 
myself,  and  then  when  I  have  eaten  and 
drunk  with  you,  go  with  me  as  far  as  the 
finger-post,  dear  Joe  and  Biddy,  before  we 
say  good-by !" 


334  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  sold  all  I  had,  and  put  aside  as  much  as 
I  could,  for  a  composition  with  my  credi- 
tors— who  gave  me  ample  time  to  pay  them 
in  full — and  I  went  out  and  joined  Herbert. 
Within  a  month,  I  had  quitted  England, 
and  within  two  months  I  was  clerk  to  Clar- 
riker  and  Co.,  and  within  four  months  I 
assumed  my  first  undivided  responsibility. 
For,  the  beam  across  the  parlour  ceiling  at 
Mill  Pond  Bank,  had  then  ceased  to  tremble 
under  old  Bill  Barley's  growls  and  was  at 
peace,  and  Herbert  had  gone  away  to  marry 
Clara,  and  I  was  left  in  sole  charge  of  the 
Eastern  Branch  until  he  brought  her  back. 

Many  a  year  went  round,  before  I  was  a 
partner  in  the  House  ;  but,  I  lived  happily 
with  Herbert  and  his  wife,  and  Hved  fru- 
gally, and  paid  my  debts,  and  maintained  a 
constant  correspondence  with  Biddy  and 
Joe.  It  was  not  until  I  became  third  in 
the  Firm,  that  Clarriker  betrayed  me  to 
Herbert;  but,  he  then  declared  that  the 
secret  of  Herbert's  partnership  had  been 
long  enough  upon  his  conscience,  and  he 
must  tell  it.  So,  he  told  it,  and  Herbert  was 
as  much  moved  as  amazed,  and  the  dear 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  335 

fellow  and  I  were  not  the  worse  friends  for 
the  long  concealment.  I  must  not  leave  it 
to  be  supposed  that  we  were  ever  a  great 
House,  or  that  we  made  mints  of  money. 
We  were  not  in  a  grand  way  of  business, 
but  we  had  a  good  name,  and  worked  for 
our  profits,  and  did  very  well.  We  owed 
so  much  to  Herbert's  ever  cheerful  industry 
and  readiness,  that  I  often  wondered  how  I 
had  conceived  that  old  idea  of  his  inapti- 
tude, until  I  was  one  day  enlightened  by  the 
reflection,  that  perhaps  the  inaptitude  had 
never  been  in  him  at  all,  but  had  been  in 
me. 


336  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

For  eleven  years,  I  had  not  seen  Joe  nor 
Biddy  with  my  bodily  eyes — though  they 
had  both  been  often  before  my  fancy  in  the 
East — when,  upon  an  evening  in  December, 
an  hour  or  two  after  dark,  I  laid  my  hand 
softly  on  the  latch  of  the  old  kitchen  door. 
I  touched  it  so  softly  that  I  was  not  heard, 
and  looked  in  unseen.  There,  smoking  his 
pipe  in  the  old  place  by  the  kitchen  lire- 
light,  as  hale  and  as  strong  as  ever  though 
a  little  grey,  sat  Joe ;  and  there,  fenced 
into  the  corner  -svith  Joe's  leg,  and  sitting 
on  my  own  little  stool  looking  at  the  fire, 

was 1  ao;ain ! 

"  We  giv'  him  the  name  of  Pip  for  your 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  337 

sake,  dear  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  delighted 
when  I  took  another  stool  by  the  child's 
side  (but  I  did  not  rumple  his  hair),  "  and 
we  hoped  he  might  grow  a  little  bit  like 
you,  and  we  think  he  do." 

I  thought  so  too,  and  I  took  him  out  for 
a  walk  next  morning,  and  we  talked  im- 
mensely, understanding  one  another  to  per- 
fection. And  I  took  him  down  to  the 
churchyard,  and  set  him  on  a  certain  tomb- 
stone there,  and  he  showed  me  from  that 
elevation  which  stone  was  sacred  to  the  me- 
mory of  Philip  Pirrip,  late  of  this  Parish, 
and  Also  Georgiana,  Wife  of  the  Above. 

"  Biddy,"  said  I,  when  I  talked  with  her 
after  dinner,  as  her  little  girl  lay  sleeping  in 
her  lap,  "you  must  give  Pip  to  me,  one  of 
these  days ;  or  lend  him,  at  all  events." 

"No,  no,"  said  Biddy,  gently.  "You 
must  marry." 

"  So  Herbert  and  Clara  say,  but  I.  don't 
think  I  shall,  Biddy.  I  have  so  settled 
do-\vn  in  their  home,  that  it's  not  at  all  likely. 
I  am  already  quite  an  old  bachelor." 

Biddy  looked  down  at  her  child,  and  put 
its  little  hand  to  her  lips,  and  then  put  the 

VOL.  III.  z 


338  GREAT  EXrECTATIONS. 

good  matronly  hand  with  which  she  had 
touched  it,  into  mine.  There  was  something 
in  the  action  and  in  the  light  pressure  of 
Biddy's  wedding-ring,  that  had  a  very  pretty 
eloquence  in  it. 

"Dear  Pip,"  said  Biddy,  "you  are  sure 
you  don't  fret  for  her?" 

"  0  no— I  think  not,  Biddy." 

"  Tell  me  as  an  old,  old  friend.  Have  you 
quite  forgotten  her?" 

"  j\Iy  dear  Biddy,  I  have  forgotten  nothing 
in  my  life  that  ever  had  a  foremost  place 
there,  and  little  that  ever  had  any  place 
there.  But  that  poor  dream,  as  I  once  used 
to  call  it,  has  all  gone  by,  Biddv,  all  gone 

Nevertheless,  I  knew  Avliile  I  said  those 
words,  that  I  secretly  intended  to  re^^sit  the 
site  of  the  old  house  that  evening,  alone,  for 
her  sake.     Yes  even  so.    For  Estella's  sake. 

I  had  heard  of  her  as  leadino-  a  most  un- 
happy  life,  and  as  being  separated  from  her 
husband,  who  had  used  her  Avith  great 
cruelty,  and  avIio  had  become  quite  re- 
nowned as  a  compound  of  pride,  avarice, 
brutality,  and  meanness.     And  I  had  heard 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  339 

of  the  death  of  her  husband,  from  an  acci- 
dent consequent  on  his  ill-treatment  of  a 
horse.  This  release  had  befallen  her  some 
two  years  before  ;  for  anything  I  knew,  she 
was  married  again. 

The  early  dinner-hour  at  Joe's,  left  me 
abundance  of  time,  without  hurr3dng  my  talk 
with  Biddy,  to  walk  over  to  the  old  spot 
before  dark.  But,  what  'w'ith  loitering  on 
the  way,  to  look  at  old  objects  and  to  think 
of  old  times,  the  day  had  quite  dechned 
when  I  came  to  the  place. 

There  was  no  house  now,  no  brewery,  no 
building  whatever  left,  but  the  wall  of  the 
old  garden.  The  cleared  space  had  been 
enclosed  with  a  rough  fence,  and,  looking 
over  it,  I  saw  that  some  of  the  old  ivy  had 
struck  root  anew,  and  was  growing  green 
on  low  quiet  mounds  of  ruin.  A  gate  in 
the  fence  standing  ajar,  I  pushed  it  open, 
and  went  in. 

A  cold  silvery  mist  had  veiled  the  after- 
noon, and  the  moon  was  not  yet  up  to 
scatter  it.  But,  the  stars  were  shining  be- 
yond the  mist,  and  the  moon  was  coming, 
and   the   evening   was  not  dark.     I  could 


340  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

trace  out  where  every  part  of  the  old  house 
had  been,  and  where  the  brewery  had  been, 
and  where  the  gates,  and  where  the  casks. 
I  had  done  so,  and  was  looking  along  the 
desolate  garden-walk,  when  I  beheld  a  soli- 
tary figure  in  it. 

The  figure  showed  itself  aware  of  me, 
as  I  advanced.  It  had  been  moving  to- 
wards me,  but  it  stood  still.  As  I  drew 
nearer,  I  saw  it  to  be  the  figure  of  a  woman. 
As  I  drew  nearer  yet,  it  was  about  to  turn 
away,  when  it  stopped,  and  let  me  come  up 
with  it.  Then,  it  faltered  as  if  much  sur- 
prised, and  uttered  my  name,  and  I  cried 
out: 

"Estella!" 

"  I  am  greatly  changed.  I  wonder  you 
know  me." 

The  freshness  of  her  beauty  was  indeed 
gone,  but  its  indescribable  majesty  and  its 
indescribable  charm  remained.  Those  at- 
tractions in  it,  I  had  seen  before ;  what  I 
had  never  seen  before,  was  the  saddened 
softened  light  of  the  once  proud  eyes ;  what 
I  had  never  felt  before,  was  the  friendly 
touch  of  the  once  insensible  hand. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS*  341 

We  sat  down  on  a  bench  that  was  near, 
and  I  said,  "  After  so  many  years,  it  is 
strange  that  we  should  thus  meet  again, 
Estella,  here  where  our  first  meeting  was ! 
Do  you  often  come  back  ?  " 

'^  I  have  never  been  here  since." 

"Nor  I." 

The  moon  began  to  rise,  and  I  thought 
of  the  placid  look  at  the  white  ceiling, 
which  had  passed  away.  The  moon  began 
to  rise,  and  I  thought  of  the  pressure  on 
my  hand  when  I  had  spoken  the  last  words 
he  had  heard  on  earth. 

Estella  was  the  next  to  break  the  silence 
that  ensued  between  us. 

"  I  have  very  often  hoped  and  intended 
to  come  back,  but  have  been  prevented 
by  many  circumstances.  Poor,  poor  old 
place !" 

The  silvery  mist  was  touched  with  the 
first  rays  of  the  moonlight,  and  the  same 
rays  touched  the  tears  that  dropped  from 
her  eyes.  Not  knowing  that  I  saw  them, 
and  setting  herself  to  get  the  better  of  them, 
she  said  quietly : 

"  Were  you  wondering,  as  you  walked 


342  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

along,  how  it  came  to  be  left  in  tliis  condi- 
tion?" 

"Yes,  Estella." 

"  The  ground  belongs  to  me.  It  is  the 
only  possession  I  have  not  relinquished. 
Everything  else  has  gone  from  me,  little  by 
little,  but  I  have  kept  this.  It  was  the  sub- 
ject of  the  only  determined  resistance  I 
made  in  all  the  wretched  years." 

"  Is  it  to  be  built  on  ?" 

"  At  last  it  is.  I  came  here  to  take  leave 
of  it  before  its  change.  And  you,"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  of  touching  interest  to  a  wanderer, 
"  you  live  abroad  still  ?" 

"  StiU." 

"  And  do  well,  I  am  sure  ?" 

"  I  work  pretty  hard  for  a  sufficient 
living,  and  therefore — ^Yes,  I  do  well." 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  you,"  said  Es- 
tella. 

"Have  you?" 

"  Of  late,  very  often.  There  was  a  long 
hard  time  when  I  kept  far  from  me,  the  re- 
membrance of  what  I  had  thrown  away 
when  I  was  quite  ignorant  of  its  worth. 
But,  since  my  duty  has  not  been  incom- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  §43 

patible  with  the  admission  of  that  remem- 
brance, I  have  given  it  a  place  in  my  heart." 

"  You  have  always  held  your  place  in  my 
heart,"  I  answered.  And  we  Avere  silent 
again,  until  she  spoke. 

"  I  little  thought,"  said  Estella,  "  that  I 
should  take  leave  of  you  in  taking  leave  of 
this  spot.     I  am  very  glad  to  do  so." 

"  Glad  to  part  again,  Estella  ?  To  me, 
parting  is  a  painful  thing.  To  me,  the  re- 
membrance of  our  last  parting  has  been  ever 
mournful  and  painful." 

"  But  you  said  to  me,"  returned  Estella, 
very  earnestly,  " '  God  bless  you,  God  for- 
give you !'  And  if  you  could  say  that  to  me 
then,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  say  that  to  me 
now — ^now,  when  suffering  has  been  stronger 
than  all  other  teaching,  and  has  taught  me 
to  understand  what  your  heart  used  to  be. 
I  have  been  bent  and  broken,  but — I  hope 
— ^into  a  better  shape.  Be  as  considerate 
and  good  to  me  as  you  were,  and  tell  me  we 
are  friends." 

"  AVe  are  friends,"  said  I,  rising  and 
bending  over  her,  as  she  rose  from  the 
bench. 


344  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  And  will  continue  friends  apart,"  said 
Estella. 

I  took  her  hand  in  mine,  and  we  went 
out  of  the  ruined  place  ;  and,  as  the  morn- 
ing mists  had  risen  long  ago  when  I  first 
left  the  forge,  so,  the  evening  mists  were 
rising  now,  and  in  all  the  broad  expanse  of 
tranquil  light  they  showed  to  me,  I  saw  the 
shadow  of  no  parting  from  her. 


THE  EXD. 


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LIST  OF  THE  MAI^. 
t  Sheet.  Sheet, 

1,  2.       World  in  Hemispheres — 2  Maps. 
3,  4.       World  on  Mercator's  Projection— 2 
Maps. 


5.  Europe 

C.  British  Isles. 

7,  8.       England  and  Wales— 2  Maps. 

9.  .Scotland — General. 

10.  Ireland— General. 

11.  France,  in  Provinces. 

12  to  15.  France  in  Departments— 4  Maps. 

16.  Holland  and  Belgium. 

17.  Spain  and  Portugal— General. 
18  to  21.  Spain  and  Portugal — 4  Maps. 
22.  It;ily— General. 

23  to  26.  Italy  -4  Maps. 
27.  i'russia  and  Geiinan  States. 

28  to  31.  Germany  andSwitzerland— 4  Map; 
32.  -Austrian  Empire. 

33, 34.     Hungary    and    Transylvania  — 
Maps. 

35.  Turkey  in  Europe  and  Greece. 

36.  Bosphurus  and  IJardanelies. 

37.  Greece  and  the  Ionian  Islands. 

38.  39.     Sweden  and  Norway — 2  Maps. 

40.  Denmark. 

41.  Russia  in  Europe. 

42.  -Vsia,  North. 

43.  44.     Asia,   South,  and  Indian   Seas — 

Maps. 
45.  India — General. 

46  to  52.  India- 7  Maps. 
53.  Persia  and  Tartary. 


54,  55. 


Turkey  in  Asia  and  Western  Persia 

— 2  Maps. 
Eastern  Persia. 

Syria  and  Arabia  Petra?a— 2  Maps. 
Cliina  and  Indian  Seas — 2  ^laps. 
Australia  and  New  Zealand— Gene- 
ral Map. 
Australia — 2  Slaps. 
New  South  Wales— 3  Jlaps. 
Victoria  or  Port  Philip  District. 
New  Zealand. 
Polynesia — 2  Maps. 
Africii- 2  Maps. 
3  to  75.  Egypt,  Nubia,  Abyssinia,  and  l>d 

Sea — 3  M.ip?. 
76,  77.    North  Africi- comprising  Morocco, 

Algiers,  and  Tunis — 2,  Maps. 
78  to  80.  West  Africa — comprising  Seijcgam- 

bia,  Liberia,  Soudan,  and  tniinea 

— 3  Maps. 
Southern  Africa— 2  Jlaps. 
British  North  America. 
Arctic  Regions. 
Canada,  New  Brunswick,  and  Nova 

Scotia— 2  Maps. 
North  America— General. 
United  States— 2  Maps— General. 
9Uto93.  United  States— 4  Maps. 

94.  Mexico. 

95.  West  Indies  and  Central  America. 

96.  South  America— General. 
97  to  100.  South  America— 4  Slaps. 


56. 

57,  5t<. 
59,  60. 
CI. 

62,  63. 
64  to  66 
67. 
68. 

69,  70. 
I,  72. 


^1,  82. 


85,  80. 


87, 
88,  89. 


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